


A Great Big Lake

by CircusBones



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Courtship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircusBones/pseuds/CircusBones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two oldest siblings bond, before the dragon falls and a whole lot changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely borne of goading on tumblr, this pairing <3 Also, never fear, writing something new has sparked my muse afreash for Though Far Away!
> 
> Timeline is a weird blend of movie cast, and how long it takes to get anywhere in the books.
> 
> (also, for all Sigrid's age is ambiguous/she's dressed and styled to be older in the film, Peggy aint. THAT IN MIND, Sig is 17/18 when this begins)

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You made me swear I'd never forget  
I made a vow I'd see you again...

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The kids had wanted to join in, and so Sigrid had let them. Their Da was off on another patrol around the wharfs, and thus not present to voice anew his concerns about the dwarves. Mind, Sig mused, his opinion had softened somewhat since they'd helped two elves save his children from a pack of orcs. Just so, his wary eyes kept returning to the mountain, to where Thorin' Oakenshield's feet trod, and neither his new friends nor his cheery children could ease his mind.

Sigrid understood, she did. She'd also been mother to her little sister and brother for years now, and knew how much they deserved to join in with the feasting and revelry the town was still enjoying. It had been ages since any fun had come to Laketown, and especially after a brush with death and orcs? Both Bain and Tilda needed the merry evening, needed to feel normal and happy again. And so she'd bundled up her siblings, linked hands with them and made for the Town Hall, and the fine feasting and music going on there.

As much as the Master may've still mistrusted her Da, he wasn't so cruel as to have told any of his staff to deny the bargeman's children entry to the party. Right away, upon stepping inside, Tilda and Bain found themselves swept up and away by Bofur the Dwarf, who was only a little tipsy, yet fully engrossed in entertaining the children present. Sig laughed, watching them be tugged into the ring of wee ones entranced by the clever toys the dwarf had made just that afternoon, with the odds and ends available to him. Bain tried his hardest to look above it all, and failed, watching as entranced as his little sister as Bofur's gadgets wheeled and puffed around on the floor.

“Ye came!” Kili's voice called, and Sig laughed as she was lifted up in a tight hug, “We weren't sure if we'd ever see you here, if your Da would...”

“He didn't!” Sig grinned, biting her lip, and as she expected the young Prince laughed all the harder, giving her a hardy smack on the shoulder.

“I'll not tell!” He vowed, winking, “All for mischief, here.”

“Master Dwarf!” A drunken voice called from one of the nearby tables, placed in rows in the great hall, “Another song!” Kili shrugged, grinning, moving that way. Sigrid saw, with a grin of her own, that the lady elf sat there too, holding out a small violin for him. She hadn't known their guests were musical, and talented too, as the young dwarf struck up a lively tune, the stately, intimidatingly lovely elf merrily keeping time with her hands, laughing and lovely. 

“Y'look nice!” Sigrid jumped at the voice at her elbow, turning, smiling, shrugging at the elder of the brothers and smoothing her fine blue skirts. 

“Was my mum's one nice dress, seemed as good a time as any to give it an airing,” She replied, swaying a little to the music, noting that Fili's eyes stayed on her face as she did. 

“Dress like that, 's made for dancin',” Fili informed her with a wink, offering her a hand, and Sig opened her mouth to protest...and found that she had no real reason to do so, shrugged, and slipped her hand into his, only then realizing how rough, dry and cracked they were, her smile faltering. She'd never had cause to feel bashful about her hands. Her dishpan hands, hands cracked from working in the cold, from cutting firewood and doing much of the chores while their Da was away working, since she was ten years old. She'd never taken a lad's hand, Dwarf, Human or no, and it had her looking down, embarrassed by their roughness.

“M'sorry they're so...”

“Hmm?” Fili was frowning at her, utterly perplexed, she realized, looking up. Sig noted, then, that his hands were just as rough, bigger, wider, caloused and hard, but warm. But men's hands were supposed to be that way. And he was a Prince.

“Just...” She cleared her throat, pushing back the thick hair she'd let long that night with her free hand, “M'sorry for my rough hands, Lord. I know fine ladies' must have much softer ones...”

“What?” Fili blinked, grinning, honestly perplexed, and to her annoyance Sigrid felt her cheeks grow warm, “Do they?” He seemed to ponder this, still holding her hand, “S' pose maybe human ladies do...d' ya know, though, dwarf ladies do just as much clever work as their men?”

“...Aye?” Sig felt herself smiling back in spite of herself, as he tugged her into the ring of dancers, jigging across the Master's floors.

“Aye!” He called, giving her a spin, “Our own Mum works metals like you'd not believe! Real clever with the gold and silver wires, she is!”

“Well, that's a fine notion...” Sig smiled shyly, and then laughed aloud as she was yet again lifted up in a pair of strong arms that night, this time warm and moving with the lively music and singing, of her kinsman and the dwarves.

Settling some minutes later at a table, catching her breath, Sigrid laughed breathlessly to see her siblings across the big room. Tilda entirely girlish with her little friends, Bain trying his best to seem adult and grown to the lass his own age at his side, even as he was still enraptured by Bofur's toys. At her side, the Dwarf Prince was smiling as well, watching her.

“Yer laughin' so much tonight, lass!”

“It's been so long since we've had some good fun,” She told him easily, sighing happily, “In case you've not noticed Lord, our home is'nae the cheeriest.”

“We'll mend that,” Fili told her, with conviction, nodding, “Fore y' know it, gold and trade and plenty will return to this place, I promise you!” he smirked, reaching over, giving the lace at her elbow a flick, “You'll have more than one fine dress to dance in.”

“When you say such things, you make me believe them,” Sig found herself saying, even as her face warmed and she found herself noticing just how blue his eyes were, how fine his brow, his profile. She gulped, looking to the tables again, “Even with all my father's grim predictions.”

“Then I make it my promise to you, Sigrid, daughter of Bard,” Fili adopted a Lordly pose, and Sig chuckled, “You will see the lake turned gold, and never want for a single thing, as long as you live in the North.”

“...We shall see, Lord.”

“...Fili. I don't have my mountain back yet.”

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By ten, they were poised at the far end of the room, a crowd around them, as they eyed a blade-scarred wall. Sigrid squinted at her mark, reaching for another of Fili's knives. He merely offered her his sleeve, and the human girl smirked, squinting, reaching into it and tugging out a dagger. The way his eyes and smile widened made something flip in her stomach, right before she turned, tossing the blade to stick dead center in the mark made on the wall in red wine.

“Oi, beat that, big brother!” Kili called from his spot, a bit too closely entwined with the elf Lady at the nearest table. And yet, after what she'd borne witness to in her own home, Sigrid did not find it terribly surprising, somehow, that they were thusly bonded. Of course, she did not claim to understand the divide between the two races fully, she only knew that it seemed quite a nice thing, different as they were.

Her attention was swiftly taken back to the wall, however, when Fili's next dagger hit its mark just a hairs' breadth from her own. Still, he looked on her with an impressed whistle, “Where did'ja learn that, lass?”

“Da is often gone, and I've kids to look after.”

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At eleven, fresh snow began falling outside, and Sig chose that hour to take some air, breathing deep the chill as music, feasting and drinking went on within. Her little siblings were still well-occupied, and the girl took the free moment to look up into the blustering flakes, both reveling in her chance to be merry, yet even so, worrying after her father out ranging in this weather. She hoped he'd worn his coat, she'd patched it afresh that morning, quilting the insides as best she could...

“Well, your Master sure is a fine piece of work, and no mistake,” Fili's voice broke into her thoughts out on the vast veranda before the Master's house, and Sigrid couldn't help but grin, glancing back at him, framed in the light of the open doors, “But he does throw a fine party. Perhaps more credit lies with his people, 'course.” He smiled at her under his braids and beard, and Sig did not think she was being silly, as she noted that his smile had gotten warmer and warmer toward her, over the course of the night. 

“I know you've seen us at our gloomiest, Lord,” Sigrid hummed, “But I promise you, we're merry at heart. We're descendants of traders, blood of all sorts of Men are in us...” She sighed, shaking her head, “We're downtrodden, and no mistake Lord, but under it all is somethin' rich and good and...” She stopped, feeling his warm palm on her bare forearm, and he was looking up at her with such delight that the young girl's words caught in her throat.

“I understand,” He murmured to her, pressing his lips together for a moment, eyes never leaving her face, “...I never knew my kin when they lived in Erebor, yet my mother and uncle and Balin have told me much,” Fili smiled, slipping his fingers into hers then, and Sigrid sucked in a breath, “We've been little higher than peasants our whole life, yet we've lived on songs and tales of the richness of home. When this is all over and done with, Sigrid? Both our homes will be what they were!”

“...Like I said,” The girl smiled, looking away from him and into the snowy night, “You make me want to believe such things, Lord.”

“Fili,” He told her, earnestly.

“Fili,” Sigrid murmured, nodding, feeling all her young years as she did...and loving it. She'd not felt too young for a situation in a long, long time, and she was not yet eighteen. The way his smile widened when she said his name sparked that fluttering inside of her chest all over again. And for the first time in her young life, Sigrid felt herself wanting more of it. “...My brother and sister, I should...”

“They're fine,” He assured her, shrugging, “Bofur loves children, loves makin' them smile, human, dwarf, no matter,” Fili looked toward the doors, “...He lost his own wife in child bearin', long ago, and so all children are like his own children, I think.”

“S'a fine thing, as Bain and Tilda are always aching for that other parent they lost,” Sigrid told him easily, leaning on the rail of the veranda, her fingers still linked with his, her chest still doing that odd fluttering thing, “Only Bain remembers mum, of course...she used to make up toys for him too, with string and these...pictures, on flat bits of wood...” She squinted, yet Fili was already digging in his pockets.

“Like this?” He asked, winding the toy between his fingers, two images blending, looking like a thrush in a wee cage as he did. Sig smiled wide, nodding, biting her lip.

“Just like that,” She breathed, swallowing hard. His fingers returned to hers, squeezing them tight.

“M' the only one, of the two of us, who remembers our Da,” Fili told her, tucking the trinket away again, looking up at her, “Kili would ask me, again and again when we were lads, to tell him about our father....”

“And you run out of new stories, after a time,” The girl continued, frowning as she did, “You want to give them something new to hold to, as you do, but you were little yourself...”

“...They like the same stories over and over, though,” Fili whispered, hesitating, before bringing her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, and through her remembered sadness Sigrid still felt it all the way to her toes.

“And the picture it paints,” She murmured, even as she felt herself blushing, saw him smiling softly at her through the snow.

“You've done somethin' amazin', though,” He told her, tilting his head, “Yer Da away so much, and not just one, but two little ones to be strong for...least we had our mum all the time, as well as Thorin, when he was there...”

“It's still hard,” Sigrid said, stoutly, through all her warm, wonderful, confusing feelings just then. She felt strongly about this, “You lost half the equation, as they'd say at school. We be what they need as best we can, but that's all. S' all we could do...”

“And you've done it marvelously well, for all I can see...” The dwarf prince told her. Sigrid looked to him, for all that his actual years surpassed hers, seeing a lad not too much older than herself, by their respective people's reckoning. A lad still clutching her hand, tugging her towards him.

She finally murmured his proper name without prompting then, just before he tugged her into a kiss. His lips slanted against hers, his hands gripped her long honey-colored hair, and her fingers went to his beard, shaking only a little as she indulged in her very first, proper kiss.

Her Da was going to kill her.

Finally, something a normal lass had to handle.

 

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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas! Or Day Off, Or whathaveyou.
> 
> I am quite fond of the mostly-fan theory that, while the Elves fade and wane and cease being reborn into the world, Dwarfs on the other hand either just become increasingly isolated, or, more likely, fade into memory between low birth rates AND inter-marrying with Men. A not wholly unfounded theory! (do some reading on Bree-land!) Basically I like the notion that dwarf/men pairings would not be that odd, if still uncommon, in some places. Aside from the lifespan and average height, the two can have as little or as much in common with each other as any race on a person-by-person basis. However, if you're an heir of Durin who's in line for a kingdom full of gold, well...
> 
> And yes, I've gender-bent one or two of Thorin's Company (along with fully acknowledging POC in Laketown), though I like playing the non-Dwarf characters as non-the-wiser. Because why not. Tolkien started rolling in his grave 14 years ago anyway, when Liv Tyler got called in for a casting.

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“You lads are gonna be the doom of this venture, I'm convinced,” Oin was grumbling, picking her way through the merry ruination inside the Town Hall, which the Master's staff was tidying up. Kili and Fili had been dozing in the corner, Bofur snoring contentedly under a table, when Bard had stormed in some minutes earlier, looking for his children. Awake, alert, and suffering no ill-effects from all that she'd drunk the night before, Tauriel had eased the Man swiftly, assuring him that she'd ushered his brood up to sleep in a guest room above herself, not wishing for them to be at home alone on such a night. He'd calmed, thanked her, and gone to gather up his family. 

In the cold, yet golden light of early morning Fili found himself sitting up and blinking, blearily, across the wide expanse of wooden floor, messy tables and the occasional spilled tankard marring an otherwise fine hall. Oin's grumbling barely registered with him, as Bard slipped back down the great staircase, little Tilda still half asleep on his shoulder, Bain yawning close at his side, and Sigrid hastily pinning up her hair as she followed.

Her father was murmuring something kindly to his two youngsters, Fili could tell, as Sig caught him watching her pass. She blushed so prettily, those large eyes flickering away as she grinned, ducking her head. The messy tendrils of her hair were all lit by the morning sun through the glass windows, and Fili knew he must have looked quite the fool, grinning back dazedly as she and her family slipped out of the hall and into the cold daylight. She was a beauty, and a sweet, tough one too...

A hefty jab to his ribs snapped him out of it, Kili giving him a meaningful look.

“Oh like you can talk,” Fili huffed, cuffing his little brother upside the head.

“Th' both of ye seem on a mission to give yer Uncle heart failure,” Oin noted, reaching down to haul them both up off the floor, “Kili's infatuation, I'm just gonna chock up to a lingerin' fever,” The old dwarf matron smirked at that, shoving a mug of weak ale into the protesting younger brother's hands. “Fer the headache. You, though,” Oin gave Fili a pointed luck, “Y'watch yerself there, lad.”

Fili frowned as he helped Oin haul up Bofur, as the older dwarf needed one hand free for her ear-horn, “Oi, I've had a dance or three with human lasses before, Oin...”

“Aye, in the Blue Mountains, where you were not but a minor lord's nephew,” The healer reminded him, waving over the cook, who was serving up breakfast trenchers and more weak ale to the groggy, hungover stragglers in the Master's house, “Here, Mahal-willin', you'll be a prince soon, the heir of Erebor. Kissin' on Laketown's virgin girls aint gonna endear you to 'em.”

Fili's ears burned red, but still he shook his head, “Aye, I'll carry myself better, but sure and simply keepin' company with Sigrid isn't wrong, or odd, or...”

“It wouldn't be, back home or in Bree-land, y'daft boy,” Bofur finally spoke up, waking up a bit more with hot food under his nose, “There's not been Dwarf folk this way in decades, for all there were once merchants in Dale with human wives. Those folk an' their offspring what lived, they long ago went to lands back west, or to the south.”

“And anyhow,” Oin finally sat down herself, sighing, as Fili's brow creased in thought, “Anyone with eyes in their skull could see that the Bargeman's daughter is an innocent lass, unused to a fine-lookin' lad like yerself. One look around this cheerless town would tell y'that!” She chuckled, “Prince or no, carry on with her as you've gone on with half the village girls at the foot of your Uncle's hall, and Bard'll have yer handsome yellow beard fer a wall hangin'.”

Kili bust out laughing at his side, and Fili could only grumble, shaking his head again. “S'not like that,” He muttered, stabbing at his stew and bread with his spoon, “...She's different.”

“So was my niece, as I recall,” Bofur smirked. 

“Oi, nuthin' happened with Olgun past kissin'!” Fili protested, swiping up his mug for a hearty chug, glaring, “And anyway, we were barely of age!”

“Y'were still about four decades older 'an young Sigrid is now,” Oin said mildly, “Mind yerself, is all I'm sayin' lad. She's a fine, stout lass among Men, shame t'see her hurt by a cocksure Princeling who 'ought to know better.”

“Yeah.” Kili smacked his lips, “And I'm not yet ready to be Thorin's heir, if yer skinned alive by a Bargeman.”

Ah, someone to vent his frustrations on. Fili tackled his little brother to the floor, glad for the fact that he was well enough for it again, Kili laughing all the while.

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The snow lingered that morning, even under the clear light of day. Almost as soon as she'd gotten home and after only the mildest of scoldings from her Da, Sigrid was out again to get her sleeping siblings something for breakfast. He'd been softened, her Da, between Bain and Tilda's sleepy, yet enthused chatter about Bofur's toys and tales, and seeing Sig in her mother's harvest dress. He'd hugged her tight, told her that it was fine for them to have some merriment, but to please be watchful. And to leave a note the next time.

Sigrid knew he didn't suspect anything further. Hugging her thickest shawl close about her against the bitter cold under a deceptive sun, she couldn't keep the smile off her face even as the wind stung her cheeks, her footfall light and merry on the frosty docks. They'd danced until midnight, and then Fili had kissed her goodnight on the Master's great stairs, after her younger siblings had been ushered up to sleep by the Elf Lady. Sig ducked her chin into her scarf, trying to hide the grin that threatened to split her face at the memory.

She'd never had the chance to simply be a young girl, and not only had the night before given it to her, but so much more as well. And he was so very kind as well as so very handsome, and he'd called her strong...

“Someone had herself a fine evening,” A wry voice called on the docks, from the small vendor's post Sigrid had been making her way towards. The slender, lovely woman inside was eying her up and down, smirking as she stirred her huge pot of bubbling wares. “I saw y'last night, Sigrid. Wearing that same dress.”

“I behaved myself, if that's what yer askin', Zoria,” Sigrid replied, primly, though she was unable to fully temper her smile, holding out the large earthenware bowl she'd brought along, which the woman called Zoria filled with her good, if simple hot mash of oats, shellfish and greens. 

“Oh, I never for a moment thought you wouldn't, lass,” Zoria nodded, covering up the pot and nodding toward the waters, through the mists, “S'that sly prince I've an eye on. Best hope yer Da remains as blind to your bein' a woman grown as he's ever been these two years.” Sig shook her head, looking down and away.

“He's very kind, Zoria...” She murmured then, “We spoke long into the night...”

“I am sure he is, and I am sure y'did,” The vendor dished up another bowl from her own wares then, covering it with an oilcloth, giving Sigrid a steady look, “But at worst, he's a dragon-waking peasant passin' through with a handsome face, lass, no more.”

“...And at best?” Sig frowned, tilting her head, watching as Zoria tugged her own shawl up over her thick, black braids, smiling a little.

“At best, he's indeed a Dwarf Prince, who'll either slay that old dragon, or find its corpse on a bed of gold, and then be expected to take a dwarf wife.”

“...Two minutes getting breakfast, and you've got m'heart sinking...” Sigrid felt the words tumble out of her mouth, so easily as her shoulders slumped. But then, this was Zoria she was talking to, who paused, sighing, setting aside the bowl and moving around her stall, tugging Sigrid into a tight embrace.

“Oh lass, I don't mean to damped yer high spirits,” She murmured into Sig's yellow hair, both their breaths a halo 'round their heads, “Truth is seeing you dancing and laughing last night made me so very happy,” The older woman drew back, looking the girl in the eye, “Be merry as you'd like with the lad, even, I just hope you'll guard yourself.”

“...Of course,” Sigrid nodded, putting on a smile again, determined to shake off the doubt, even as she knew Zoria had a point, “I mean, got to, don't I? Tilda and Bane still need me to.” Zoria patted her shoulder, her smile softening further.

“...Is Bard out on the boat?” 

“Pushing off in an hour I think,” Sig smiled true then, her eyes bright again as she saw how Zoria's whole frame softened when she spoke her father's name, “More barrels to fetch today, though his anxiety has him lingering close to home, I think.”

“I'll try to talk some calm at him, then,” She smirked, “And bring him his breakfast.”

“I think he's finally takin' note of your persistence,” Sigrid smiled wide, waving as the tall, willowy woman moved through the mists with her burden, sighing as she went. 

Long ago, her mourning father had once knocked on the door of their nearest neighbor, and had asked her to check in on his children while he struggled to keep work, and as Sigrid struggled to take on her mother's role at home. Sig knew that Zoria had held nothing but love and concern for her ever since, that she truly meant it when she told her to keep on being merry. The girl found it a hard notion to reason with, however. She'd been so practical for so long, the things the other woman had brought up could only trouble her as she turned back toward home with her burden, heart still thudding, feet somewhat less light.

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Such was her state when he came by the house at midday, to find her sitting on the balcony with a pile of mending. Sigrid looked up sharply at the footfall on the stairs...perhaps some lingering anxiety of her own remained, after the orcs. But it was Fili standing there, eying her almost nervously, which looked rather out of his nature. Sigrid couldn't help but smile, for all her thoughts were a tangle, warmth creeping into her cheeks at the way his keen eyes found hers.

“I, ah....” The dwarf prince cleared his throat, and over her sewing, Sigrid prompted him with a lofted brow, smile widening. Fili grinned, holding up the bundle of greens in his hand, “...So, turns out there are no flowers in this ruddy, wintery town,” He admitted, sheepishly, coming nearer. Sig bit her lip, unable to help the fondness stirring in her chest.

“...So, y'brought me a bundle of Rosemary.” She surmised, setting down the skirt of Tilda's that she was mending to take his offered bouquet, “...And Ivy?”

“It looked pretty,” He coughed, still grinning, and Sigrid could not help but wonder if Dwarves held the same symbolism for herbs and flora that Men did. A stubborn, rational part of her told her not to assume that they did, that the gesture was lovely all the same. She drew the bundle to her nose, shutting her eyes and inhaling the savory scent.

“Why?” She found herself asking, catching her breath as he stepped nearer, sitting beside her, legs dangling over the waters alongside her own.

“I was hopin' you were home,” He told her quietly, looking at her in that steady, open way, even as his hands were twitching at his sides, “...We're leavin' to join Thorin tomorrow, we've decided,” Sigrid felt her heart drop, but he kept going, earnestly, eyes intent, “Kili's much better now, and Thorin's our lord an' our Uncle, our place is with him, winning back our home. Yet, I'd, ah...” Here he paused, the nervousness all back, and a hopeful thing started stirring in Sig's chest, her heart dizzy from all the up and down motion, “...I'd like to spend time with you, proper-like, before.”

A thousand questions burst inside of her head, then, as some tightness in her chest gripped at her heart and held it in one place. The query that made it to her mouth, though, happened to be the most prudent. “Before I never see you again, you mean?” She asked, mustering a breath, meeting his eyes as steadily, pointedly as she could. 

His own eyes widened for a moment, shaking his head, “No, no that's not it at all! I mean...” Fili winced at that, “...Aye, there may surely be a dragon still alive in Erebor. But we all do mean to come back, Sigrid!” His voice was so earnest, so assured, just as it had been the night before and she couldn't help but believe him, biting her lip, looking down and pressing a spring of rosemary between two fingers. The fragrance burst afresh.

“...Some folk of the Lake say you're imposters, while most others say you'll succeed and fill the lake with gold,” She murmured, “And my father says Thorin will only bring us flames and ruin.”

“What do you say?” Fili asked her, ducking his head to try and catch her eye again. Sig felt herself smiling a little, shaking her head, long strands of light hair falling out of their pins. He reached out and caught some, clever fingers winding them back up into her chignon. 

“...That you are good, and kind, and I...I want your folk to succeed, as much for our people as yourselves.” Sig looked up, and he smiled at her like any besotted lad might, and all her lingering doubts curled away to the furthest corner of her heart when he spoke. “I'd want this to not be goodbye.”

“S'what I want as well, Sigrid,” He promised her, clasping her hand and kissing the back of it. “I will be back.”

“Then I will spend time with you, proper.” She grinned, at last feeling as free as she'd felt the evening before, at least for a little while, “...How are you with needle and thread?”

“...More than fair,” The Prince replied, dutifully plucking up the next shirt in her mending pile, grinning right back at her.

 

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	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on...well, everything...holidays + birthday + working retail, these things happen. I realize I may have given Fili & Kili a dose of Becket-Brothers in this one. I am perfectly all right with this. Go on and on about how awesome your ladies are, boys.

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“No wonder you stayed on at the Master's hall last night,” Fili called down from the roof of the house as he and Bofur finished nailing on the last shingle and putting down fresh thatch. Night was just falling, as was the temperature, and imagining Sigrid and the two youngsters trying to last a night in a house that had still borne the marks of the Orc's attack made him shiver from more than just the cold. 

“Da meant to fix it, today,” Tilda spoke up from the doorway as the dwarves climbed back down to the landing, brushing straw from their hair and beards, “But there was shipment to move...” 

“Well, now he need worry about one less thing,” Bofur told her brightly, mussing her hair and following Fili inside, “Mind, the patched bits will need a good tarrin' before long, but you'll all keep warm til it gets one.”

“It's warming up in here already, finally,” Sigrid sighed gratefully from the kitchen, tossing off her shawl. Her hair was down long again, and despite the crowded little house, Fili found that he couldn't keep his eyes off of her, couldn't help but follow her with his gaze. She noticed, and for all it made her a little shy, it also put a wry smirk on her lips. “You'll have endeared yerselves to Da that much more, when he returns.”

“Aye, here's to hope.” Kili noted from his seat at the kitchen table, where Oin was checking his healing wound for what seemed to be the thousandth time, “Some of us could stand to have Bard like us a little more,” He gave his brother a cheeky grin. The old healer yanked his wrappings a bit tighter than was strictly necessary, his brother sent him a glare, and the pretty maid only laughed. 

There was apparently another feast being thrown at the Master's hall this night, but the visiting company would not be there. Fili and Oin both shared a strong suspicion that the Master's aims were less toward feeding and lodging them in the luxury befitting their claims, and more toward working up his people. Once they were in a good fervor, should Thorin succeed they'd be sure not to let him forget them...and if not, well. He'd have a hearty mob on his hands. The Master was a slimy character, that fact none of them doubted. They liked the people of Laketown though, there was just closer company to be kept.

Sigrid and her little sister made up a fine supper with what their guests had provided for food, Bofur offering advice now and then, things he'd learned from his little brother. “Trust him, ol' Bombur can make the blandest of trail rations taste like home,” Fili assured them, as the scent of rosemary filled the place, the lot of them seasoning dry beef and meager greens and roots with the herbs Sigrid grew in little planters all around the room. The little house over the lake was full and warm that night, the meal good, if simple. Much in this place was simple, and even as the company was fine and a merriment filled his heart, Fili could not help but see how much even a tiny bit of Erebor's gold, power, and influence would help this once-bustling town. 

Proper trade once more, and proper food...Sigrid met his eyes again, her smile merry as her siblings laughed at one of Kili's jokes. A proper home for the proper heir of Dale, his children never to go hungry or cold. No, it would not only be Durin's folk that they did this thing for, that they reclaimed their home for. At least, not in Fili's heart.

After the dishes were cleared the dwarves lit their pipes, and began telling tales of their journey thus far at Bane's prompting, as sweet-smelling smoke rings drifted overhead. The table had been pushed aside, the chair cushions placed on the floor for after-dinner seating (“It's our way,” Was all Sigrid's explanation), and the two youngest were especially enraptured by the tales. Sigrid listened close as well, Fili saw, though he'd tugged her to his side, was winding her hair around his fingers. It felt as if hardly any time passed at all, before the candles were burning low and Tilda was fighting stubbornly to keep her eyes open.

“Bedtime,” Sigrid murmured when she noticed, grinning as Bane nodded sleepily, pushing himself up and heading for his bed, behind the curtain that separated the back of the house from the front. Tilda, however, protested.

“I like these stories, and they're leavin' tomorrow...” She yawned, not budging. 

“Then I'll tell y'one more, to go to sleep on,” Kili offered, grinning, and the girl couldn't say no, letting him take her hand and tug her up, with only a slight wince on the Dwarf's part. 

“Does it hurt still?” She asked, as they walked to the back of the house as well, tugging aside the dark curtain to see Bane already passed out asleep.

“Only a little, where the skin's still fixin' itself,” Kili told her, softly, “But there's no more poison, not even a drop...”

“Oh good...tell me about the Bear-Man again?”

Sigrid smiled wide as Kili's quiet, murmured version of the tale went on, lulling her little sister to sleep. Bofur and Oin started up some low, storied singing in the dim house, and from the kitchen Sigrid produced a pair of dark bottles to round out the evening, “It's harsh stuff, not very fine,” She murmured, pouring each a cupful and leaving the rest between them, “But it is a warming mead.”

“We've had harsher and in far less cheery places, lass,” Oin assured her, between her pipe, her songs and a long drink. Bofur laughed, and the two began recounting all the times and places they'd been in tight spots with not but rotgut to keep them company. They hardly noticed Sigrid taking Fili's hand, the two of them slipping outside with the other bottle, into the cold night.

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There was no snow that night, though the air was as harsh and chill as ever. Sitting out on the balcony Sigrid had wrapped herself up in a thick quilt, offering him the other in her hand. With a smirk and a wink, Fili had slipped under hers instead, tossing the second around the both of them as well. She smiled, shaking her head even as he kissed her temple. They were of about the same height sitting like this, his shoulders more broad, her head perhaps an inch above his. 

“Oi, that packs a wallop,” Fili winced, upon popping the cork on the mead and taking a quick swig. Sigrid chuckled lightly, taking it from him and having a drink herself, hardly flinching, and the dwarf prince could only grin at her, watching. “Mead...where do you even get honey to make it, in such a place?”

“Those bear-men your brother spoke of, obviously,” She joked with a smirk, handing it back, “We do still receive some trade, you know.” She nodded into the darkness, to the nearest house casting a glow on the icy waters, “Our neighbor, Zoria, she has the means to buy honey from the traders who still come this way, selling her mead to the Master's table...and gifting it to my father, on occasion he remembers to smile her way.”

“So, we're snitching from your da, then?” Fili surmised, and she shifted closer, fighting back a mischievous grin. 

“Actually, these are mine,” She confessed, looking at him sideways, a little bashful, “...She knows I have long days as well. Still best if da doesn't know, mind.” Fili laughed, impressed, shaking his head. 

“My mother has her stash of fine wines,” He told her, bracing himself before taking another, longer drink, managing to not wince this time as he did, “...They saw a lot more depletin', when we were smaller lads. Saved her strung-out nerves more an' once, I imagine.”

“If you can believe it, Tilda's a much bigger trouble-maker than Bain,” Sigrid laughed, looking at him again, tilting her head, “...What is your mother like?” She asked, shyly then, and Fili shrugged, still smiling, eyes suddenly far-off, fixed on the night sky to the west. He could imagine her, this night, working her metals at the forge, her prayers for their quest and safety sounding in time to her hammer.

“She's much like any good Dwarf woman, really, though she's always carried herself especially nobly...” He replied. At the girl's prompting brow, he realized that wasn't much for Sigrid to go on, and grinned to himself, “She works hard, she's proud and she's tough, was tough on us growin' up, and we're stronger for it. And she's beautiful,” His smile went wistful, “Famed beauty, even, dark of hair and blue of eyes. Her beard is always wound with the fine gifts admirers have given her, even as she's refused 'em all.”

“...Why does she refuse them?” She asked, reaching up to touch her own bare jaw, musingly. Fili noticed, and smiled. Really, he'd traveled with his uncle among Men enough times to not find a lack of beard strange.

“First it was for missin' our own da, I'm sure,” He replied, reaching up himself to play with her long, slightly tangled yellow hair, “Now, I know she waits on Mr. Dwalin,” Fili grinned. “Her mind was on raisin' us for so long, we had all her love...the two of you'd have plenty to talk on there, I think...” He swallowed, as she ducked her head.

“And do Dwarves often bring home daughters of Men to meet their mums, where yer from?” She asked, her voice light enough, even as her cheeks flushed. Fili bit his lip, watching her, sliding an arm around her shoulders, tugging her closer.

“Sometimes,” He nodded, and that got her to look back up, a hopeful little ember in her wide eyes even as she was trying to school her features to something passive. Oh, for all that she was clever and merry, Sigrid had also clearly taught herself to be wary of lads and their promises. He thought of her grim father, and his assurance that Thorin would bring his people not but ruin. One did not hope for things in Laketown, he was gathering. Yet again that fierce determination flared up in his heart, to give hope back to this place...back to her. In fact, as her bottom lip passed under her teeth, Fili was quite sure that he wanted to make every promise under the stars to her, and then keep them all.

...Mahal, he was a bigger goner than Kili.

“Mind, s'not exactly common, but it's not thought too strange, either.”

“Not even for a prince?” She asked, her lips turning upward just a smidgen, and Fili had to allow for that.

“Well, aye, tha'd be looked on askew,” He admitted, even as he reached over to touch her soft, smooth jaw, turning her face toward his gently, “But I'd think a prince also gets more of a say than other folk, in who he spends his time with.” 

It was as if that last coil of tension eased from her frame, and it was Sigrid who closed the distance between their lips, pressing ever closer to him in the cold. For all she was just a little taller than he, her frame was so slim, so small for how much rested on her narrow shoulders, and a roaring, protective surge passed through his blood as he kissed her back with a fervor. Her breath stuttered in her lungs, he could feel, a trembling hand winding in the front of his tunic, clutching even when their lips parted, as he trailed small kisses along her jaw. 

“...Must you really go?” She asked, in a whisper that said she knew the answer, but had to ask anyway. He grinned softly against her skin, leaving a kiss on her neck that left her breath hitching in her throat. The sound only drove her hooks deeper into his heart.

“Aye,” He whispered as she adjusted her position under the blankets, to rest her head on his chest, “...Y'do know, when we win back that mountain, yer da will be able to claim his right to Dale as well?” Stroking her long hair, Fili felt her suck in a long breath.

“One impossible thing at a time, Fili,” She murmured his name into his tunic, a grin in her voice, and he couldn't help but curl closer around her, kissing her hair, shutting his eyes. “...Tell me about the Blue Mountains,” She asked him in a whisper, and he opened his eyes again, grinning into the frosty night.

“...Well, right about now, they're preparing for the long Winter,” He told her, softly, hands never leaving her hair, “The Men and Dwarves alike readyin' for the last great feasts 'til spring, and the forges there are warm and singin' with their work...” His voice a steady thrum, he went on to describe all the country he'd grown up in, the hall his uncle had established for them, and the roads he'd traveled in the years til he'd come of age. Bree-land and the Greenway and even his one glimpse of the sea. Sigrid, in turn, had little to tell him of travel but much to tell him of the people of the Lake, of her mother, of how her father, while always serious, had smiled often in the presence of his merry wife. 

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They did not realize how late the hour had gotten until, feet near-silent on the stairs, the elf Captain alighted on the landing, having been patrolling the wharfs. “It is midnight, and your father has moored his barge,” Tauriel told them, smirking lightly as they drew apart, both rather red in the face, “There is little sign of the orc's return, though I'd advise...”

Her words were cut short, as the wooden planks under their feet jolted and shuddered as if in an earthquake. Sigrid gasped, and all eyes flew to the distant mountain under the starlight. A golden, flaming light burst over its peaks, and Fili felt his heart turn cold, and then drop like a stone. 

Fire on the mountain, and it was moving, moving toward them.

 

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	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...I had a lot of father/daughter feelings. That is all.

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I've been gathering the pieces of all these shattered hearts,  
And I don't care where you go to  
And I don't care where you land  
But just get out of there daddy as fast as you can.... 

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She wouldn't, couldn't look to the sky, not even as the screaming started up all through town, the hot, unnatural wind blown down from above. Sigrid kept her eyes forward, on her bundled up siblings as they ran down the docks, the elf Lady leading them on swift feet. In Kili's arms Tilda had been brave thus far, clutching her doll and keeping her face buried against his shoulder. Sigrid knew the exact moment when Tilda had looked up, however, when her shrill little scream cut through the night and stabbed Sig through the heart.

“Don't look up!” She yelled behind her, willing her voice to stay steady as they ran for her father's dock, dodging cluttered lanes and shell-shocked folk as they went. Fili, Bofur and Tauriel especially kept shouting for the folk in their way to flee as well, but Sigrid could only duck her head, running hard with Bain close beside her. She couldn't look up, she couldn't worry for others, they had to get to the boat...

She almost toppled over into the water when they stopped short, Fili's strong arm around her waist catching and steadying her. Tauriel had abruptly ceased their run, having come upon Bard hurrying in the opposite direction. “Please, get them away from here as fast as you may!” The Bargeman breathed to the Elf, eyes fixed on the sky. At last, Sigrid followed his gaze upward just as the first jets of flame took the east end of the town in yellow fire.

“Da, where are you going?!” She cried as he made to keep running, over her brother and sister's far less coherent protests, Oin's calls that it was foolhardy, Tauriel's grim warnings. 

“There's only one way to bring down that beast, Sig, and I must take that chance,” He paused to tell her, gently, his face lit by the dragon's fire reflecting off of the water, “...Get in the boat, get to land, and you'll have a chance.” Another burst of fire nearby, and Tilda was sobbing now into Kili's shoulder. “Go!”

Swallowing her own sobs, Sigrid turned and kept running, grabbing Bain's hand tight, practically dragging him along behind her as he tried to break free, tried to follow their father. “I have to go with him!” He shouted, as they turned the corner on the mooring the barge was tied to, “He needs someone with him!”

“He needs you to guard your sisters!” Fili's voice sounded close by her side, as Tauriel, Oin and Bofur hurried with the ropes, and Kili tucked little Tilda into the prow. Fili took Bain by both shoulders, looking on him seriously, “If anything were to happen to your da, he'd want you to be there for them, aye? Wouldn't he?!” The young lad huffed, wanting so badly to protest, yet knowing he could not, finally nodding, taking Sigrid's hand and helping her into the barge.

Another pass by the dragon, his great, terrible wings beating like a hurricane above, before another ball of fire took out the toll gate. Sigrid covered her mouth with her hands, her breath gone short, coming in gasps. Her da, all the folk she knew, under those flames...Fili met her eyes for a long moment, as his brother and the dwarves helped those of the fleeing Lakemen who'd fit onto the barge as well. She saw the moment when his resolve became firm, one side of his mouth turning up in a wry smirk, just for her.

“I'll meet you on the shore!” He called to Kili, before turning and following Bard's route through the docks. 

“Wh-But...!” Kili called, and Sigrid's grip on the barge's sides tightened, watching him go, as Oin decidedly pushed them off from the dock. “...Oh fine, he can defy uncle about leavin' me behind, and then go off on his own himself!” He called to the docks, and in her dim, distracted periphery, Sigrid could see the Elf Lady turn, brushing his jaw gently with her long fingers.

“As if you'd not do the same,” Tauriel murmured, under the terror of what they were witnessing on the water, “Were your places switched, and your leg well,”

Sigrid could only clutch close to her siblings as they pushed off into the water, squeezing her eyes shut as flame after flame rained down from the sky, and onto her home, onto her father, and the young prince who'd taken a hold of her heart.

 

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He kept up with the Man fairly well, for all Bard's need was great and his conviction lent him speed. Fili's motivations weren't so very different, and dodging flames and fleeing townsfolk, Bard at last took note of the dwarf prince at his heels as they neared the house. “You needn't have followed me, Dwarf!” Bard called, the both of them stopping, ducking as a jet of fire cut through overhead, licking up thatched roofs as it went. Gathering himself first, offering the Man a hand up, Fili could only shake his head.

“The look on your eldest daughter's face told me different, Bargeman,” He smirked, and after a beat, Bard returned it, somewhat more grim. 

Flames had taken the house by the time they reached the stairs, smoke billowing from the freshly-mended roof. In the moment it took Bard to pause, to weigh the risks of running inside, a figure had already rushed from the building, her face covered with a shawl against the fumes, just before the roof of the cozy little house caved in. “Zoria!” Bard shouted, as the woman hurried down the stairs, fire lapping at her heels, in her hand a long, black iron spear.

“Take your arrow, Bard!” She called as she drew near, thrusting it toward him, and Fili gasped. It was no spear. He'd had the design of this thing told to him many a time, over the countless hours of his upbringing dedicated to the fall of Erebor. It was a wind lance. Of course, Girion's heir would have the last. Bard looked on the dark-skinned lady before him in wonder for a moment, shaking his head, but Zoria only raised a hand, “I taught Sigrid how to cook when she was a little lass, how could I miss that half the herbs in the house hung from an iron-forged rod?”

“And were you going to take down the beast yourself, then?”

“I thought on it, but it is right that you are here,” Zoria turned to Fili then, giving him a squint, “...You as well.”

“Go to the water, please, Zoria...” Bard asked of her, and the Lady smiled, even as a flicker of fear passed through her eyes. Fili looked away out of respect, anticipating the kiss Bard drew her into, swift and sure for all that it was fleeting. And then she was running, joining the fleeing multitudes in dodging the heat, the fire, the roaring inferno that was getting hotter and hotter by the moment.

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“One would think our damp town would not catch so easily!” Bard called as they turned their course toward the Town Hall.

“Dragon's fire,” Was all the Prince could say, knowing that the both of them were thinking on the tales of their youths. Tales of incineration, of steady stonework reduced to ash. Wooden piles soaked in lake water weren't much against that. The billowing clouds of steam that were beginning to surround the town were a testament to how much the lake meant against the dragon's flames.

Fili happened to look up just as Smaug passed low overhead, saw his gold-encrusted belly, the sweep of his massive wings. The Doom of Durin's folk. Fili's frown grew hard, his resolve ever firmer as they neared the Town Hall, fire already consuming many of its levels and outhouses. The Master's staff and guards had all fled...no doubt the Master had been first among them. 

“Look out!” Fili called, diving and pushing Bard out of the way as the front balcony collapsed to the ground in a pile of cinders and ash, where the Man had stood not a moment before. The two blinked up at the swiftly-burning house, looking to each other once, before Bard rose and gave the dwarf a hand up. 

“Speed is our only ally, then, “ The Man breathed, as the two ran inside. 

The main house remained in tact yet. Flames had not yet moved further in, and the Great Hall bore all the signs of a grand party and feast left to burn. As Smaug's roaring and bellowing threats sounded above, the pair made steady haste to the great stairs, and Fili could not help but recall the last time he'd been there, Sigrid in his arms, kissing her goodnight. The thought of her smile, her wry and merry eyes only spurred him on, close at her father's back.

The structure was sound, though the heat was growing oppressive and telling. As they rounded on a landing, high in the building, they beheld a shrinking, cowering figure, pale and wide-eyed under his unfortunate eyebrows, “Alfrid!” Bard gasped, to a figure Fili vaguely recalled from their days in this house, “Why have you not gone with The Master?!”

“He...he left,” The previously slimy, slippery Man replied. Now, Fili saw that he was very altered, or even battle-shaken, as they'd say back home. He blinked up at Bard, trauma having stolen away all of his guile, “...I was to...to look after the estate...you know, man important as him, needs his affairs and lands kept rightly...”

“...Get him out of here,” Bard looked to Fili, squinting, “Find a boat...Alfrid, are there still boats?!”

“The Master has many skiffs....”

“Prince, get a boat ready,” Bard spoke, and Fili blinked, for this was the first time the Man had called him as such, “When I take my aim, we'll need a manner of escape.”

“....But....”

“I shall be fine,” Bard drew himself up, drawing in a deep breath, “I've only one path open to me....and Alfrid!” He called loudly, so that the shaking Man would look on him fully, “...I cannot abide by a world wherein we're not antagonizing each other, Alfrid. Let the Prince get you out of here alive, that we might be on each others nerves for many years yet!”

The other Man gave a shaky smile, at last, and Fili was able to shoulder him up, to lead him back down the stairs. He shared one final glance with the Bargeman, nodding to him, hoping Bard saw all of Fili's hope, that the aim of Men would fly true this night. Then he was hurrying away again, the Master's steward's mumbled directions in his ear.

They found a boat easily enough by The Master's dock, the last of the fine skiffs he'd had for his own pleasure. Rowing out as Alfrid mumbled to himself in the prow, Fili kept his eyes on the very top of the Hall all the while, til he saw Bard's silhouette dark against the fiery sky. He saw as the Bargeman fitted the last of Dale's black arrows to the last Wind Lance, and wheeled around to take his aim.

For a moment, it seemed as if there was a fluttering of wings at Bard's shoulder, a thrush just at his ear, before the Man drew in a long breath, Smaug's cackling loud and boisterous overhead.

The lance was let fly.

The dragon laughed, and then bellowed, screaming, cursing in every tongue he knew, before his great, evil bulk curled around the lance that had pierced his heart. Stopping, failing, the Dragon's body fell from the sky, looking to land squarely on the remains of Esgaroth.

 

Fili watched closely, as the lone figure left alive in Esgaroth dove into the water.

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They'd seen the great carcass fall from the sky, and even as its bulk demolished their home, the survivors of Laketown had cheered from the banks. The death of a dragon, and they'd borne witness to it, a dragon of legend no less. Smaug had been killed, and Sigrid knew by whom. There was only one person who could have ended the plague of a beast.

And yet, as the minutes dragged on following the fall of the dragon's corpse, a dread grew in all those huddling, crying, mourning in the sand. By the reckoning of those around her, Sigrid gathered that only a third of their people had made it to land. A third. Her siblings were all safe, and Zoria found them in the crowd and clutched them all close...but word was that none had survived Smaug's fall.

None.

Their little clutch of survivors did not give up hope, though. Huddled together, three dwarves, an elf, a woman of the south and a bargeman's children, they remained watching the water until long after most others had drifted away in mourning, in sadness and grief. Sigrid could not, would not give up hope, for her father, the lad she was quite sure that she loved, and bless them, neither could any of those with her. Not Kili, grasping at Tauriel's hand as Oin and Bofur spoke comforting words to the young dwarf, not Tilda or Bain, cuddling close to her, and not Zoria, trying so hard to be strong for them, even as tears made paths down her lovely face. 

The slightest shades of blue were just beginning to touch the sky over the mountain, when the last boat from Esgaroth drew near the shore, carrying within a Dwarf Prince, a Bargeman, and a Steward of The Master.

Sigrid was caught up in her father's arms first, hugging him tight and sobbing into his worn, pauper's coat, telling him how much she loved him, that he was a hero, that she'd known he'd do it. Kili had his brother, telling him much the same, families grasping onto, clutching, and kissing each other. Tilda with a death grip on her father's neck, Bain trying his damnedest not to cry in front of their company. Zoria laughing even as she drew Bard into a kiss, Tauriel grinning as she knelt in the water to embrace Fili.

Maybe they both thought no one would notice, in all the shuffle. But plenty did, when Fili drew Sigrid into his arms, when she was the one to kiss him into a blissful oblivion.

 

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	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters are going to be a little fragmented, as Sigrid wouldn't really be present for BOFA, but I kind of like the prospect of writing that way, writing in snapshots. Also Fili when did you get so smooth. Damn.

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By the time full dawn had risen, necessity had Sigrid on her way to becoming a healer. Between Oin and Tauriel's instruction, and having seen to clumsy siblings for years by then, she could appropriately bind and treat at least a few of the injured who were huddling on the shore. The over-chilled, those suffering shock, and the many who'd faced the flames. For heat rash and minor burns, there were cool mud compresses and lake water. For blistering burns, Oin had shown her how to manipulate the simple weeds along the river banks for their soothing saps. Deeper wounds, Tauriel instructed her to dress with certain other herbs and mud, and then point the victims out to her, that she might say her words over them. 

By midday, Sigrid's hands were muddy and grassy to the elbow, as the rest of those well enough and skilled enough made their way through the afflicted. 

Before much longer, though, the elf lady began to grow faint, resting on the wintery banks and struggling to regain her strength. “She's not a healer by natural gift, fer all she can do so in a pinch,” Oin spoke, shaking her head sadly, “And fer all elves need little rest, food, and are light on their feet, their spirits are tied to their works. Hers grows weary.”

“We're going to need more elves, then,” Sigrid noted, bleakly, for many of those who'd made it to land were still barely clinging to life. She looked away, swallowing hard as Fili relieved the man currently in her care of his arm, too damaged to ever be saved, even by Tauriel's reckoning. Mustering herself, gritting her teeth, she following with the hot iron, the lake water, the herbs. 

A third of her people had lived, but for how long? 

Once she'd eased the man into an herb-induced sleep, Fili tugged her into his arms, wrapping them tight around her. That was when Sigrid realized she'd been shaking, for all that she'd been firm and determined in front of the blood, the seared flesh, and the binding of it all. She allowed herself to slump, to draw in a long breath, to find her equilibrium once more as he held her steady. 

On opening her eyes she spotted Bard across the way, meeting her glance with a pained look before being drawn back into yet another debate between the Lakemen and the cowering Master in his shed. The people were looking to her father, to the dragon slayer to lead them, as the Master sniveled for his comforts and called out loud reminders about what had brought this terror down on them. They were calling for her father to be their Lord, Heir of Girion, they were saying, as his children tended the wounded and sick (and for all they may have thought the Master had a point regarding Thorin, the dwarf Princes were helping them).

Bard had no time for much else, but in his brief gaze now, Sigrid saw all his love, and all his concern, as she'd seen on the shore when she'd broken her first embrace with the Prince. Shutting her eyes, drawing back, she opened them to see the wear on Fili as well, though his was of a very different nature, his eyes so often returning to the Mountain's peak.

“You still want to go,” She murmured, and he smiled, sadly, reaching up to frame her face in his hands.

“I have to know,” He said, simply, nodding to where Kili sat on a log in the sand, trying to ease Tauriel in her pains, “We both do, fer all much of our hearts are here....”

“Your uncle is there, still,” Sigrid finished the thought, understanding, entirely. 

“More'n that, even,” Fili swallowed, hard, and Sigrid, for all her young years knew it was very much that, but that he had to set his mind to further aims, should it prove that the rest of the company had indeed fallen, “...If he's, he's gone,” He stammered, blinking many times, “...Then I've the say over where the wealth of Erebor goes. And Mahal knows yer people need it. They need Gondor, they need all the trade between there and here, and a new city built for it to pass through....they need Dale, and Erebor.” 

Sigrid nodded, bending to kiss him, despite all who might see, “...Stay til morning, at least?”

He promised as much, kissing her again.

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Nightfall was as unforgivably cold as ever, and now there was little shelter to be had. Blessedly, there were those of the Lakemen who'd grown crops and livestock on the shore, and to the homes, barns and sheds of those folk the bulk of the population found themselves turning to for shelter. Bard and his family (and now-honored guests) were taken into the hospitality of a man named Orin, the brother of Zoria. Yet even as he was sheltering his sister, he could really only offer a corner of his great barn, as so many were in need of lodgings.

Without any debate, the dwarves and the elf Lady decided to take their rest outside, to let up more room. They were all much hardier folk than Men, after all, and all able of body. They waved off the protests of all those whom they'd tended to, pitching tents on the shore and then returning inside for the more subdued conversations.

Fili marveled over the fact that, already, the Lakemen were rousing, plotting new piles for a rebuilt town, even asking Bard how he planned to raise Dale, over a meager dinner of fish and grains from the folk on the shore's stores. It were as if the lethargy of long years under the Master's bleak leadership had been shaken off, the people finding purpose where others might've despaired. And for all his reluctance, Bard was answering questions evenly, bracketing every answer with, “If we've Erebor's support,” and a meaningful look to the Prince.

And to every glance, Fili nodded in turn, lifting his rough wooden mug of watered wine, the two of them winning over the folk more and more simply by being decent and honest in their aims, in their desire to see the folk looked after. Even if Fili very much wanted the Bowman to like him, and as Bard clearly wanted to trust this stranger, even as it pained and confused him regarding his daughter, working together would be easy. 

As this happened, Alfrid, still shaking off his shock, his lungs healing from the smoke he'd almost died in, had migrated to Bard's side, and The Master was losing support by the hour. Off in his corner, asking for more blankets and the hottest food and other such scarce comforts, the one subject he seemed able to gain any ground on with the people was how, exactly, Fili seemed to plan on helping out the folk around them, after his uncle's “Obvious demise.”

Fili only hardened his gaze, at the Master and anyone who'd listen to him and his greedy delusions, there, in a place where they were all huddled for warmth and food. “As much as I can, I swear it,” He spoke every time, until the bloated, cowering Man left him alone, muttering to himself in his corner of the barn.

Fili did not envy Bard one whit, for all he still had to put up with regarding that man. As far as his own household was concerned, though, Fili tried his best to remain low key that night, as they ate their sparse dinner and drank the good, if diluted wine Orin had supplied. Just so, he knew that many eyes were upon him as he went about his evening, the sick healing, the maimed mending, and Bard's gaze followed him closely.

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The night advanced, and the weary folk at last took their rest, fires kept burning against the cold. Kili slipped off to be with the weary elf Lady in her tent, murmuring some of the same stories he'd eased Tilda with only the night before. Fili smiled to himself in the dark, sighing, wondering how both he and his brother had managed to get themselves so improbably attached. It couldn't really be a bad thing though, he was convinced, lifting their gaze and seeing beyond the singular aim they'd been raised their whole life with an eye on.

Around midnight, when even the dwarf prince had cause to shiver in his bedroll, a slim figure slipped quietly from the warmth of the barn and into his tent, shedding her shawl and boots. “Sig, no,” Fili breathed into the cold, as the young maid sneaked under his covers, curling close to his side. “Yer...we can't...” Oh, but she was so warm...

“We're not,” She cut him off, burrowing close to his side, inhaling deeply, nuzzling her face into his shirt as she gripped his belt, and his heart turned over in his chest,“Yer the lord of Erebor...I'll be the Lady of Dale...s'all proper enough,” He felt her grin against his clothes and Fili couldn't help but smile in turn, shaking his head, before drawing her up for a sweet kiss.

“Yer mad, lass,” He murmured, wrapping his arms around her, burying a hand in her hair. Sigrid shook her head.

“Couldn't sleep, not after all I saw today...” She told him, and he clutched her just a bit tighter, “And knowin' you're leavin' come dawn...”

“Suppose I can risk yer Da's wrath that much more then, aye,” Fili assured her, softly, bending to kiss her again, and again. Sigrid stirred in his arms, her hands moving up his chest, tentative at first and then sliding around his neck with a purpose, her whole small frame alive and pressing against his and ohhh, this was unwise. Still, he couldn't bear to stop, not just yet. She was warm and brave and beautiful and her lips were soft, her little gasps when he kissed her neck sweet in his ear. 

He realized his honor hadn't quite fled him just yet, thank Mahal, when one of her hands slipped to her blouse, fingers trembling a little as she popped the first couple of buttons. Fili caught her hand, stilling her and swallowing hard, “Oi, lass...” Sig's brow furrowed, something fleeting and insecure passing in her eyes, and Fili shook his head, “I mean...not here.”

“Cause of Da?” Her voice was soft, and Fili bit his lip, looking on her face in the dim starlight, her wide, nervous eyes. 

“S'not just that,” He found himself murmuring, brushing her hair back from her brow, “Y'deserve more than a muffled secret on the cold ground, Sigrid.” She relaxed in his arms, even as her eyes looked away, the little smile on her lips shy even as her whispered reply was steady, wry.

“What do I deserve then, Prince?”

“...Well,” Fili rested his forehead against hers, eyes shut, grinning again, “The warmth of a proper fire, fer one,” She giggled, softly, and lying on his back, he tugged her to rest against his chest,“A warm home in the mountain. A proper bed, with soft sheets sent up the river from the South,” His voice drifted, and she wrapped an arm close around his waist, sighing, “And a lad who's kept some promises to you first.”

“Just want you to keep the first one, really,” She whispered sleepily, kissing the spot over his heart, “Come back.”

“I promise.”

In the morning, they'd be woken by the clear calling of Elvish horns, word having reached a King whose heart had been softened to their plight by his son, even as his eyes went to the unguarded mountain. There'd be healers and food, and even as the dwarves would bristle at Thranduil's sending his scouts along with them to Erebor, Fili would be glad they were not leaving their new allies without aid. And he'd make the same vow to Bard, the Man the Elves called Dragonslayer, the Lord of Dale, that he'd every noble intention toward Sigrid.

He'd muster his courage and his pride, and with his brother at his side he'd face whatever sorrow they might find on the mountain.

But for now, they were both warm, and together, and before Sigrid could drift off Fili made sure to whisper that he loved her, into her messy yellow hair. She drew in a shaky breath, a smile in her sleepy voice as she said it back to him. 

Yes, he could face tomorrow just fine.

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	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, but I quite enjoyed writing it (the next one will cover a lot more time, too). I love this girl, it's been a while since I've written someone traditionally feminine who doesn't need to take on any traditionally masculine traits or occupations to read as strong. Not on purpose, mind! Beth and Darcy exist in a context of kind of needing to pick up a weapon to keep up, and Tauriel's already a BAMF, so writing her embracing softer things is fun. Just, all women doing all the things and being great characters while they do, plz.

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The elves were singing as they went about their work, a calm settling over the refugees as they did, even those still struggling with wounds, or the fever that had riled up over the last two days. Of course, while it was indeed relatively tranquil, Sigrid was still kept busy morning to night as she followed the careful instructions of the healers. She was glad of the work, glad to be doing something to help, and very glad for the distraction.

Now, however, as the afternoon grew late, she'd a moment to breathe as she carefully cleaned bandages and other tools, sitting on a log by one of the great bonfires the elves had built on the shore. The mists had rolled off much of the lake, and her eyes were drawn to the Lonely Mountain's peak, squinting in the woodsmoke, trying not to look too hard at the smoldering remains of Esgaroth, and fix her mind instead on the fine lad who'd promised to return to her. The thought had kept a lightness to her heart, a brightness in her eye, no matter her task that day.

Across the pebbly lakeside, Tilda was entertaining the other children who were well enough to be outside, all bundled against the cold. Sig smiled to herself as her little sister drew out the token Fili had given her, twisting the strings and making the little ones gasp, as the thrush went into its cage again and again. 

“Where is your brother?” A voice asked behind her, and Sigrid looked over her shoulder, giving her father a wide smile and nodding across the way, near the treeline to where the elves and able Men were putting up sturdy shelters.

“He's been hammering in nails for most of the afternoon,” She told Bard as he sat at her side, looking very tired, for all he also looked proud of them. She wondered if he'd sat down once all day. Sigrid had hardly even seen him, between all the folk wanting his opinion on the buildings, on whom to send out hunting, how best to ration the stores the Elves had brought, and always, always when he thought the dwarves might return. He'd also been in counsel with the Elven King, in his tents deep in the woods, Sigrid knew. Her father was weary, and setting aside the last clean, folded linens in her wash pan, she moved closer to his side, resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Your girl-child has a natural gift for healing, Dragon-slayer,” The nearest Elf Healer said with a smile, rising and taking the tools Sigrid had cleaned, moving to take her shift with the ill. Sig couldn't hide her pleased little smile in turn, and Bard wrapped his arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.

“They're so beautiful, aren't they all?” She murmured, watching the tall elf folk move around their camps. 

“Beautiful, but a little scary,” Bard chuckled, before going quiet for a long moment, thoughtful, and Sigrid bit her lip, eyes fixed on the fire before her. It was their first moment alone in many days, and after much had transpired. Though she had expected this conversation to happen soon, she was not quite prepared for how he approached the subject. “I've been away too much, Sig, depended upon you too much,” Bard murmured, and his daughter lofted a brow, looking at him sideways, “You've never had a chance to be merry, to be among other girls yer age, not since you were ten years old...”

“...Da...?”

“Many times, Zoria would have gladly looked after the little ones if it meant you'd had the time to enjoy what merriment there was to be had in town...” 

“...Da, are you wonderin' where you went wrong?” Sigrid grinned, looking up at him, and Bard caught himself, wincing, shaking his head. “I've not been a shut-in, da, y'really have been working too much if you think that,” She told him, earnestly, even as she blushed a little, “...He's not the first lad to notice me. Just...the first I've noticed back.”

“Ah, Sig...” Bard sighed, his brow creasing, his eyes on the Mountain. “We've just had word from the scouting party,” He told her, and Sigrid felt her heart drop. It must have shown on her face, for when her father looked to her again, he shook his head, kissing her brow again, “They're all well. But Thorin Oakenshield lives,” He went on, and Sigrid blinked in surprise. Two-thirds of her people, on a lake, had perished. How his company could had survived those flames while closed inside of a mountain...but her father was still speaking, “And Sigrid, he will not see anyone. He has shut himself and those who went with him behind the gates of Erebor. And he will not treat with us, or the elves...or even his kin. In fact, they say he is calling his own nephews traitors.”

“But...why?!” Sigrid gasped, thinking back on all Fili had told her in their long talks together, of his stern, yet noble Uncle, whom he'd never doubted loved him. A lord who'd raised them as he might his own sons, had he ever married himself. She told her father as much, but Bard only shook his head again.

“And did he also tell you, of the madness that took his great-grandfather?” He asked her, and Sigrid took pause, “In the last days of Erebor, Thror fell to a sickness over his hoard...less wealth came down from the mountain, less trade, though few Men noticed at first. Until that wealth and madness brought down a dragon.” She looked down at her lap, as his words sank in ever so slowly, “...Rumor is that Thrain fell to insanity as well, somewhere in the wilds, and now Thorin will not see a single gold coin sent to the Lakemen who helped his kin...this is what is in the blood of Durin, Sigrid. This is why you did not grow up in the fine halls of Dale.”

She sucked in a long breath, letting it out in a slow fog, eyes once more traveling over the lake, the smoking ruins of her home, and up to the Lonely Mountain's slopes, just as the afternoon sun lit on its peak. A warm home in the mountain, he'd promised her...Sigrid drew in another breath, pressing her lips together, her heart mustering itself.

“Fili isn't Thorin's son, though,” She spoke, feeling her father tense at her side, “His father wasn't of the line of Durin.”

“But his mother was. And you've known him all of a week, Sig...”

“Aye,” She murmured, her voice wavering, even as her resolve was firm in her eyes, looking on her father steadily, “And in that week I saw his uncle leave he and his dying brother behind, on the vague thought that we'd help them. And in turn, Fili saved your children's lives,” Bard made to protest, but Sigrid found her voice growing stronger, “Twice! And then yours! And then they stayed to help us, despite knowin' their kin may be suffering or dead on the mountain.” 

Bard sighed, shutting his eyes, his hold on her shoulders tightening. Sigrid bit her lip, still looking up at him, as he ran a hand over his face. “Yes he is noble now, Sigrid, and I am grateful to him, but...”

“Then will you not give him the chance to prove it to you, that he's not like them?” 

Bard opened an eye, looking on her for a long moment, and she knew he saw the firm resolve behind her pleading. And a sad smile crossed his lips, “And if he does, Sig?” He asked her, softly, reaching out to cup her chin, “If he proves to be free of Thror's madness, what then?”

“He'd be a prince, and I'd be Lady of Dale, wouldn't I?” Sigrid knew she sounded very young just then, and perhaps she was foolishly hopeful. But hope had been a very nice feeling, of late, especially after all that had happened. And Fili had made her believe it wasn't a wasteful emotion, that all they'd hoped for would come true, for both their people. That they could _make_ it all happen. Bard's eyes still held a sadness, though.

“Aye, and he'd still be twice my age,” He pointed out, “Yet still a young man. And when you grew old, he'll just have reached his middle years.” 

But that, at least was something the girl had already thought on, at length, and Sigrid nodded, a sad little smile on her own lips. “Had you known mum was only going to live to see twenty-eight, what would you have done?” She asked, gently. And Bard sighed yet again, his whole frame slumping.

“...I'd have badgered your grandfather into letting me marry her sooner,” He admitted, easily, tugging her into an embrace, “Now, if I'd known she was going to give me a daughter as stubborn as she was, well,” He chuckled, and Sigrid knew she'd reached him, even as he held her tight, even as there was a wary edge to his voice, “A chance, Sig, that is all I can promise to give him.”

It was a start.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly...less productive father figure/child conversation.
> 
> ...*sighs* How many times am I going to have to write treasuremad!Thorin Oakenshield, fandom? HOW MANY TIMES?!
> 
> Also, I've decided I could probably give Lady!Nori her own series, for how much I enjoy her.

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"Then she took me by the lily-white hand  
Led me to the table  
Saying "There's plenty of wine for a soldier boy,  
To drink if he is able"...."

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He'd certainly had better days.

There were eighteen arrow slots gouged into the stopped up gates of Erebor, and currently not a single sign of life, beard, eye, what have you, stirred behind any of them. Fili knew, he'd been watching. He hadn't much left this spot since the very first attempt at negotiations, seated on a large stone just outside of the scout's camp, and just outside of the range of those inside the mountain. His eyes fell on the arrow that still lay in the dust. Shot by his own uncle, at the Men standing by his nephews' side. 

He looked to the still gates again, squinting, still unable to understand it, even as his heart gently told him that yes, he did understand. It was only that neither he nor his brother had ever wanted to believe it, that Thorin could fall to this. Somehow they must have believed that if their Uncle ever took back their home, it would mean he was stronger, that he was more stout of heart and greater than any madness that had haunted Thror or Thrain. That he was the exception. 

Perhaps they should have seen it coming when Thorin was single-minded enough to leave Kili behind. True, that had turned out to be the wise course of action, but thinking back Fili could recall the detachment in his Uncle's eyes then, that he'd merely attributed to the company's great haste at the time. But a coldness had been there. Still, that Thorin Oakenshield, who'd seen his own home consumed in fire, could turn away from the suffering of women and children, from his own kin...

Fili let out a long sigh, running a hand over his braids, his beard, twisting a bead between his fingers as his mind worked and worked at the puzzle. Thorin claimed to have sent a raven to Dain Ironfoot already, too. The only way the Prince could see to mend this, to keep this from ending in bloodshed, was to speak to Thorin himself, alone. How he'd manage this, well. That was why he'd not moved from that spot.

He could be as stubborn as his Uncle, if that was what it took.

“They're makin' a fine dinner back there,” Kili's voice broke through his solitude, and Fili realized how low the sun had gotten in the sky as he sat, that fires had been lit in the camp behind him. His brother was grinning, holding out a plate, and Fili took it with a smile in turn. Kili's spirits, at least, were not dampened, though for sure the same worry was leaving a furrow in his brow as they sat side by side. 

“One thing to be said for Thranduil's people, they eat like proper folk,” Fili noted, smacking his lips around the good venison, “Not like the lot in Rivendell, with all their greens.”

“S'a fair few things to be said for Thranduil's folk,” Kili noted, lightly, glancing over his shoulder behind them. Fili followed his gaze, smirking, unsurprised to see that it fell on Tauriel, as she spoke quietly with those of her people who'd come with them and the Lakemen. Fili shook his head, looking back to the gates.

“Best mind yourself there, at least when in view of the gates.” He reminded his little brother, “I'm hopin' to convince Thorin we've not gone turncoat on 'im.” 

“Watch yerself,” Kili gave him a nudge, and Fili shook his head.

“I highly doubt Bard shall take Sigrid to this place with him, when they march...” And he sighed again, recalling that little detail. As soon as Thorin's wroth had been confirmed word had gone back and forth from the Lake, and Thranduil himself now marched toward the mountain, along with what able Lakemen could be spared. So many folk converging on Erebor, and folk they loved were on all sides. As if knowing his thoughts, Kili gripped his shoulder tight.

“We can reach him, I know we can,” He spoke steadily, assuredly. And as always, Fili wanted to believe his merry brother. But this was more than a simple foul mood, more than a dark cloud over Thorin's spirit that their antics of old could cure with a grin. It was something much more evil, something deep-rooted and unpredictable. But with his brother at his side, Fili felt far more able to try.

“Just about time for a song, aye?” A voice joined their musings, Bofur handing off two Man-sized fiddles to the brothers, “Our friends from th' Lake include a pair of bards, who much liked yer fiddlin' down in the town.”

This at last gave Fili cause to laugh again, to be his merry self as he and Kili adjusted to the instruments. Bofur drew out his resilient little pipe, and Oin, just over his shoulder, had a teapot in her hands, smiling wide behind her thick beard. And, surprise of surprises, Tauriel and two of the Men appeared as well, lute, mandolin and lyre in hand. 

“As I Roved Out?” Fili suggested, a song known across the whole of Arda, as he knew it, and they all nodded, Tauriel especially giving him a wry, knowing grin as she tuned her lute, knowing where his heart roved this evening. After only a few moments of tuning all together, the music started lively and sweet. Kili sang the song, Tauriel joined in, and Bofur added his deeper tones, their voices echoing over the grim ruins and stones, and off of the gates of Erebor. 

And they did not stop, the sweet music a heady thing, the blending of their cultures' lilts and tuning as yet unheard to their generation. Kili lead them right into The Rocky Road to Moria, Bofur favored The Merry Old Inn, and Tauriel's voice dissolved their tune into The Long White Veil, and then it was Oin, who lead their company into the first few bars of The Parting Glass. 

As the long-known lyrics passed over the Fair Young Maid of the song, Fili felt his throat grow tight, looking on the home of his ancestors again with a longing gaze. A warm home in the mountains, he'd promised her...her flossy hair and wide, hopeful eyes filled his memory, and a soft smile spread over his features as he sang. Goodnight, and joy be with you all...

“Oi, make 'im cry, why don'tchya,” A voice quipped over his shoulder, and Fili turned with a start, his fiddle bow gone askew. Nori laughed long and loud as the note went wild through the night, tossing her head of finely coiffed braids as she did. “He only sent out the sneakin' thief, no worries. Your uncle would like to speak to you, both.” 

Fili and Kili looked to each other swiftly, the latter all optimism, the former all wary mustering. Handing off their instruments, the dwarves all moved to follow Nori toward the gates, Tauriel and the Men with her continuing their string of folk tunes. They kept it to Dwarven-inclined songs, Fili noted as they left, and said a silent thanks to the Elf for that. 

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Nori gave a whistle as they drew near to the dry-set stones over the gate, and a rope was thrown down. Giving them a wave, Nori climbed up herself, and Bofur followed, then Fili, and then Oin, with Kili keeping close watch over the Matron's ascent. When they were all atop the piles, they went down again one by one, the brothers waiting until the last to do so.

They were met with many merry greetings though, the other dwarves clapping their shoulders, their hands, noting with joy Kili's recovery. To Fili's only marginal surprise, they asked also after the Lakemen, after Bard's children, and if the news the ravens brought them was true, that only a third of the folk had lived. They asked if there was food, supplies being sent. They asked all the things they should have, being decent folk who looked as if they hadn't eaten a proper meal themselves in days...

Except for Thorin, who hung by the shadows between the great dark hall they were received in, and the stair leading to Erebor's hoard. Fili saw as much, and his heart fell, even as his uncle's face turned toward them.

“You've sided with them.” Thorin's voice cut through all the talk of his company. Near to his side, Fili saw Bilbo shake his head, his expression perhaps more pained than his own folk would allow to show. Looking on Thorin himself, Fili could only draw in a deep breath. 

“No,” Fili replied, “I am ever and always on yer side, Uncle,” He said clearly, “Rather, I saw the Lakemen shelter us. Bard's family saw to Kili when no one else would, for fear of his strange wound. And they saved him, an elf healed him...” Fili drew in another breath, as Thorin raised his head, the music still drifting in from outside, “They earned their portion, Uncle. They slew the dragon, they saved yer heirs. And an elf cured Kili...”

“In hopes of laying claim to what is rightly ours, no doubt,” Thorin was quick to say, turning, advancing on his nephew, “You'd think their aims so pure? That any kindness they'd show us, would have nothing to do with our wealth?” Kili might have given himself away in that moment, had Oin not silenced the protest on his lips, and had Fili not held his Uncle's gaze steadily.

“She had no ties to her Lord, when she did what she did,” He told Thorin, flatly, “Just as Bard had no trust from his Lord, when he sheltered us. This, this is not a matter of guile, Uncle. They had a part in takin' back Erebor, you know they did...”

“Still it remains mine!” Thorin growled, coming face to face with his nephew. In the stone hall, on the floor of gold, Fili did not budge even as his heart sank, looking on the wild fire in his uncle's eyes. His unkempt hair, his twitching hands. He was not well. He looked like every tale of Thror his mother had ever told him, as a warning. “Take that back to your new allies. They'll see their hospitality repaid...one day...” His eyes twitched to his horde, and Fili knew it was an empty vow, “...But the gold is ours, and I've no claim to the destruction that befell Esgaroth.”

“Do you not?” Kili pleaded, then, his disbelief breaking his own calm. Thorin growled, turning his back on them, and Fili's frown deepened, looking to Dwalin. Was he already so lost? Dwalin's grim face was his answer, but Fili had to believe they could still reach him.

“...How old was my mother, when you lost this place?” He asked, and Thorin paused, and not a stir of breath from the others could be heard in that moment, the silence thorough in the massive room, “When you and Frerin took your turns carrying her, crying, for miles and miles across the winter wastes?”

“...Nine,” Thorin rasped, turning his head ever so slightly, “...Dis was nine.” Fili swallowed, as something familiar, known, stirred in his Uncle's eyes.

“Same age as the Bargeman's littlest girl,” Kili spoke up then.

“And it's to be a very cold winter.” Oin added, standing beside her brother now, her eyes hard as they fell on her King. 

Thorin took pause, hands rubbing hard into his eyes, and then his hair, a long sigh leaving his lungs. Fili thought he might have reached him, having reminded him of the one person whom Thorin knew, despite any delusions he might be having, would never, ever condone this. For all her pride, her desire to return home, Dis had a deep heart for those who suffered, and perhaps, Fili thought, he and his brother had gotten it as well...certainly more than they'd gotten this curse on Thror's line. And Thorin knew this as well.

But then, the King's eyes were drawn by the glow that came up from below, were drawn to the stairs down to the hoard, and Fili felt his heart sink again. “It is...unfortunate,” Thorin's voice was a reverent whisper, “But they will see their home rise again, once trade returns to the North.” He spoke as if he were convincing himself, “Not a moment sooner, and not with our legacy.” 

“...Then, you're no longer the man who raised me,” Fili found himself saying, sadly, and Thorin staggered, bracing himself on the high stone walls. Balin went to his side, looking mournfully to the Princes, but it only tore at Fili's heart more, the anger and frustration in his chest warring with a heavy sadness. If Balin had given up speaking wisdom to Thorin, then perhaps they really didn't have a chance. “Thorin Oakenshield would not shut out the suffering of innocents. I'll have no part in this.”

“Dain will be here soon,” Thorin rasped, “Would you raise arms against your kin?”

“I would see that no arms were raised at all, over this foolishness!”

“Go, then!” Thorin bellowed, turning, “Go, you traitorous pup! Side where you will, I care no longer!”

“Uncle...” Fili's voice broke, but Thorin's wild, feral eyes were unchanging. Mustering himself, hardening his gaze, Fili turned to go, taking his brother's arm as he went. The others in Thorin's company began protesting then, calling for Thorin to see reason, at least where the boys were concerned. The King would hear none of it, storming back to his hoard, both Bilbo and Balin close on his heels.

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“M'place is at his side,” Dwalin told Fili, gruffly, tugging both he and Kili in for an embrace, “But lads, if there is a fight, there's no shame in returnin' home to look after yer mother.”

“I'm stayin', good or ill,” Fili sighed, reaching for the rope, his voice hollow to his own ears, “She'd not forgive me otherwise.”

Oin and Bofur chose to stay with the company, as their brothers remained, and as Oin put it, “One more woman with sense back here might do some good.” As Fili and Kili made to climb back over the wall, however, Dori and Nori appeared, with Ori in tow. “Take this 'un with you,” Nori told them, over her little brother's protests, “We'll not see him closed up in here to starve in luxury.”

“I made my oaths!” Ori argued, stoutly.

“And I made mine to Mother,” Nori countered, looking Fili in the eye, steadily, “Leave the valley or stay, please keep him safe with you?”

“What's one more troublesome little brother?” He managed a smirk in return, even as his spirit wasn't in it. 

It was a cheerless walk back to camp, the sweet music still playing on below them.

 

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	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter told in fragments, both because it serves how this version of the battle/AU goes, and also how I always planned certain characters' wounds to play out...and also because I am sure you're just as weary as I am of having your heart ripped to shreds by BOFA in fic ;)

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I can feel it  
Through the fields of graves  
A beating heart  
While  
Rolling hills are  
Roaming through my veins  
And open arms  
And all is full of smoke...

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She would dream of smoke that night yet not think much of it, considering what she'd survived. Such dreams should be expected. She'd bid her father farewell as he marched with the Elves, looking more splendid than she'd ever seen him in the armor they'd given him, carrying the blue banner she'd sewn for him. She'd go about her work that day with prayers on her lips, and one eye on Bain at all times, lest he try to follow Bard to the mountain. People had begun to look to her as a pillar in these harsh days, and Sigrid thought she held together well.

Until her dreams became real, and black clouds stirred up, began to ring the mountain's peak, and the ground trembled ever so slightly, thrumming under foot. But it was no dragon this time, Sigrid's heart hammering in her chest as all eyes turned toward The Lonely Mountain. It was the march of many, many feet over the ground, marching on Erebor.

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He wasn't sure why he was still sitting there, mournfully watching the gates. Perhaps some hope still clung to his bones, even as they could hear the tramp of the troops from The Iron Hills thundering over the land, even as Thorin had been as immovable as ever that morning, before Bard and the Elven King. For a time Fili did seriously consider getting up, packing up Kili and Ori, begging Bard to let him take his family as well, and going far, far away from what would soon happen. Going back to the Blue Mountains, shamed perhaps, but whole and alive and there for his mother, giving Sigrid a home in the peaceful west...

But no, family loyalty, and an ancient, primal pull to that place, that mountain, which had nothing to do with a single ounce of gold, kept him where he was. How this was ever to be made right, of course, he still had no clue, and had run out of ideas.

“I'm told you spoke with your Uncle, last night,” Bard's voice stirred him from his brooding, approaching his post at mid-morning. Fili nodded, looking down at his hands as the Man sat beside him, looking like a true Lord in his new armor, if a little uncomfortable. 

“He'll not be moved, and near disowned us for trying,” Fili replied, squinting toward the gates, “For refusing to support him in this.”

“Before the wealth of your home, and your kin, you refused?” Bard repeated, an odd sort of tone to his voice. Fili blinked, looking back at the Man, nodding. 

“What does it all matter, if we let our neighbors suffer?” For all it was how he felt, of course, Fili knew he sounded rather defeated when he spoke. They were all going to suffer before night fell, at this rate, and on top of it all, he was failing to give Bard's family their home back. At his side, however, the Dragon-slayer wore a small smile. 

“Well you're slowly working your way into my graces, at least,” Bard reached into his left bracer, drawing out a small, folded square of blue calico. Fili knew the color and pattern, and suddenly felt some light, hopeful thing stirring within him again, as Bard placed the bundle in his hand, “I was given strict instructions to see that you got this. After the loss of our home...well, my daughter hasn't much to give.”

Unfolding the scrap cut from Sigrid's dress, Fili drew in a sharp breath, his heart lurching almost painfully. A small, braided lock of blonde hair was there, tied at the ends with blue threads pulled from the fabric. It was seen as a sweet gesture among Men, he knew from the village lasses of long ago, but he had to wonder if Sigrid knew what it meant among dwarves. After all their talks, Fili thought she must have at least had an idea, folding the bundle back up carefully and pressing it to his lips, before tucking it into his own armor, close to his heart. 

And then he cleared his throat, loudly, remembering that her father was watching him all the while. But Bard only chuckled, shaking his head. “I've many reservations about you, Prince.” The Man told him, plainly, “Your affections toward her, at least, I trust in, though whether they are steady remains to be seen.”

“I love her,” Fili replied with ease, eyes returning to the mountain, fresh hope and purpose filling his heart as he filled his lungs, unafraid to say such things before her father. In fact, if there were anyone in that world he should have been able to tell these things to, after Sigrid, it was her father. And he didn't care how young or foolhardy it might sound. He had a piece of her close to his heart again, and because of the very though of her, his spirit, his hope was returning. “She is brighter and dearer to me than any gold or gem Erebor might hold.”

“...Keep to those words,” The Man's voice grew rough as he stood, adjusting his armor, offering Fili a hand up, “And should we all survive this foolishness, perhaps the two of you can chip away at all my other doubts.”

“I'm a dwarf, Bargeman,” Fili grinned, at last leaving his post, and moving toward the growing camp, “We're quite good at chipping away at things...”

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“There's two kings and a wizard in there,” Kili saw fit to remind him, as they stood just outside of Thranduil's large tent at the edge of the camp. Far off on the field Dain's folk had settled, and Fili had been called in to counsel with Bard, The Elvenking, and the lately-returned Gandalf. He had more than a few strong words for the til-lately-absent wizard waiting on the tip of his tongue. But all those great men together had even the generally confidant, at times swaggering Prince a little nervous.

“Thank you, brother, I had almost forgotten,” Fili quipped, giving Kili a look. His brother only grinned, and Fili realized that, as ever, Kili was only trying to get him to smile. And he did so, drawing in another deep breath, steadying himself.

“Oi, um,” Ori's voice piped up nearby, and, perhaps a bit glad of the delay, Fili turned swiftly, giving the younger lad a quizzical smile and all of his attention. He noticed that Ori looked rather pale, his hands shaking slightly as he held out his satchel of writing tools. “...I think Bilbo sneaked somethin' important into my bag, before we left. I mean, he's the one who handed it to me...”

Fili frowned, taking the satchel the young scribe offered, peering inside and swallowing hard, as the light of The Arkenstone glowed bright among Ori's charcoals and inkwells. He stared on it hard, his brow furrowing as he took in its beauty, as great as all the tales claimed. Though truth be told, in that moment, all he saw was a final means to perhaps, maybe end this, even as it's loveliness stirred his heart. “...Well done, Mr. Baggins.”

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The first time he awoke Sigrid couldn't help it, she burst out crying all over him, grateful tears and heaving sobs, with not a care for what her tall, stately teachers might say. He was hardly aware anyway, mumbling her name faintly as a limp hand rested in her hair. She felt when the pain of his wounds registered soon after, his whole frame tensing, a strangled groan on his lips. Sigrid gathered herself back together in the space of a moment.

Sitting up, speaking soothing words, she had a cloth soaked with certain herbs under his nose, to ease him back into a blessed sleep, kissing his brow as she did. Sig drew in a long breath as he relaxed, the blood from his bindings having left dark stains on her cheek, on her dress. The nearest elven healer smiled on her, taking her hand, her eyes steady.

“He draws breath,” The Elf told her, reassuring and kind, firm, “Now, we work to see that he continues to do so.” 

Sigrid hardened her gaze, nodding, reaching for the tools the healer held out to her.

 

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With a hearty thanks to a hearty head injury, for years upon years afterward Fili could not tell the tale of the Battle of The Fives Armies without a lot of prompting, from those who remembered much more. Memories would return in fragmented pieces and flickering images, a flash of Thorin tossing Bilbo from the gates, of the one long, silent moment before the army of orcs came in a rush over the mountain. Fighting back to back with his brother, the elf captain and prince moving like liquid through the sea of enemies. The wizard's fire, the Elf King's wroth, the Lord of Dale's shouted commands to his Men.

The scimitar Fili almost failed to dodge. The roar of his Uncle joining the fray soon after that.

The pike he did fail to dodge. A pain like no other through his chest, before falling. The stone that had been his post for many days now breaking his fall, hard, on the back of his skull.

Sigrid's pretty face all washed in tears...but no, no she should not be there, it was too dangerous, they were at war, they were...

And then a long, easy sleep.

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The next time he woke, the light slanting in through the tent was golden and filtering through the fine gossamer the elves hung over the slats. Shutting his eyes, letting them adjust to the light on their own time, Fili was aware of a great pain in his chest, in his arm. There was a throbbing in his head as well, but it was faint compared to the rest. He could move his fingers and toes, he knew that was a good sign at least.

After the quick assessment of his hurts he noticed the better things. For one, his brother was very much alive, sporting a bandaged shoulder but otherwise whole, snoring peacefully on the mat beside his. Also, not only was Fili lying on a comfortable mat himself, but his head was resting in someone's lap, someone who was stroking his braids gently, humming some sweet song as she did. 

“Sigrid,” He whispered, turning to press his face into her side, into the softness of her dress, wounds be damned as he wrapped an arm tight around her waist. He felt her draw in a breath, curling around him and kissing his head. “Where...how...you shouldn't be here...” He had so much to ask, even in his pains, but the girl would only calm him, easing him up to sit, propped on her arm. Of course he stole a kiss, and she kissed him back, before swatting him gently.

“Oi, let me do my job,” Sigrid grinned, offering him a mug of tea, something strong and medicinal. It was pungent, and not very tasty, but right away he felt his pains lessening. “The battle's long over,” She told him gently, “I came with the healers. You...you suffered a great wound,” She stammered, some memory clouding her eyes and Fili saw at last, looking on her clearly, how pale Sigrid was, dark circles under her eyes. 

“...How great?” He asked, draining his mug. Sigrid set it aside, breathing deep, and he reached up to touch her face. Days apart had been far too long... 

“Your heart stopped under my hands twice,” She admitted, leaning into his hand, “The pike bent your armor inward, you've some ribs braced and healing, and you lost much blood, between your chest and the slash in your arm,” A smile finally spread over her face though, “But you lived. The skill of the elves was greater than the wounds. ” 

“Th' elves and you,” He murmured, sliding his hand over her up-swept hair and tugging her down for another kiss. And then a jolt of pain went through his frame, he winced, and Sigrid chuckled. He sighed, lying back and shutting his eyes, feeling the herbs slowly start to take him back under.

“You need to rest, let yourself keep healin',” She murmured, a waver in her voice, “The battle's won and new allegiances formed, because of your bravery, my prince...”

“Promised I'd bring you home, didn't I?” He murmured back, grinning sleepily, and heard the long, sweet sigh leave her mouth as she kissed his brow. After a moment, his eyes snapped open though, turning to look at her, “...Thorin?” Sigrid bit her lip.

“He lives,” She assured him, after a pause, “By evening he...he should be able to see visitors.” He would have asked further questions, asked after her hesitation, but the pull back toward slumber was far too strong. He did manage to mumble his love to her, and felt her small, strong arms wrapping close around him once more.

He'd lived, he'd brought her home. Two promises kept.

 

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	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things and stuff and things. You lot make my day better.

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Considering the chaos of the day before even after the battle, this day passed peacefully enough. Which was saying something, perhaps, as many still fought to live, to breathe, and parties of scouts were still hounding the fleeing packs of orcs all around the Lonely Mountain and Dale. For her part Sigrid was charged with only two patients, Oin or the random elf always over her shoulder. Her time passed in cleaning wounds, changing wrappings and watching for stalled breathing, irregular heartbeats. She was more than all right with this.

After changing the bindings on Kili's shoulder and arm around noon, Sigrid realized she'd nothing else pressing to do, for the first time in hours. Both her charges were out of the woods, free of infections, Kili even giving her a little grin and salute as she curled up beside his sleeping brother. “Rest yerself, lass,” He told her, as Tilda set up a game board beside his mat, “You've earned it.”

“You do not need to tell me twice,” Sigrid yawned, resting her head on Fili's shoulder, gently, placing a hand on his chest as she shut her eyes, as if she could track his heartbeat while she dozed. Drawing his blanket around the both of them, she could already feel her muscles easing, a grateful lethargy taking her under after so many hours of keeping him alive. 

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She slept solidly and soundly in spite of all her worries for her patient, not stirring until mid-afternoon, when someone new slipped into the tent. “I believe these belong to you,” A quiet voice was speaking, and opening her eyes, Sigrid could see the elf Tauriel addressing Kili, setting one small trunk at the foot of his mat, another at the foot of Fili's, “Sent with my King's apologies, if you can believe it.”

“I can believe just about anythin', these days,” Kili smiled brightly up at her, Tilda watching them over the wooden game pieces as Tauriel's smile went soft, downright sweet, even, surprising Sigrid a little in her sleepy state. Even at her softest, Sig had only ever beheld a fighter, a stoic lady elf she was swiftly starting to idolize a little bit. Tauriel was hesitating less where Kili was concerned, Sigrid realized, and it made her smile herself, as the elf kissed him lightly.

“I have another, somewhat less merry injured prince to check in on,” Tauriel told him, wryly, “Rest well,” She smiled to the half-asleep Sigrid, to Tilda, and left as swiftly as she'd come, the younger prince of Erebor sitting back on his bedroll with a glad sigh and a somewhat goofy smile. 

Tilda, however, was staring moodily at the game board now, and Kili noticed right away, narrowing his eyes, giving her a grin, “Finally realized I trapped yer Commander, eh?” The little girl blinked, actually looking at the pieces, and sighing so deeply and dramatically, Sigrid couldn't help but chuckle as she roused herself.

“You love the elf Captain, huh?” The little girl asked, and Sigrid froze in the background, as Kili blinked at her little sister.

“Well, aye,” He grinned, and again that mournful little sound left Tilda's mouth.

“I mean, I guess she is real pretty and brave,” She admitted, “...And grown up.” Kili gave Tilda a lofted eyebrow, and Sigrid had to stifle a squeak of laughter as her little sister rolled her eyes at him, “I was hopin' I'd marry you someday, is all.”

Bless him, Kili kept from busting out in a laugh, though Sigrid saw the effort it took him, before a much sweeter, kinder smile took over his features, “Aw, lass, I'd hate t'make you wait so long on me!”

“It wouldn't be long for you, though!” Tilda pointed out, and quite right too, Sigrid had to admit, sitting up and straightening her hair. 

“N-nooo, but,” Here Kili paused, looking to Sigrid for any kind of help. She only smiled at him, shrugging a shoulder, glancing at his sleeping brother as if to assure him that she had no right to any imput on this matter. Kili sighed, “The heart goes where it has a will to, Lass, y'can't change it...no matter how sweet and clever the other options might be...oi!” His jaw dropped, as Tilda idly moved her Commander back to safety, in a move neither of them had seen at first glance.

“We can still be friends though, yeah?” Tilda asked, hopefully, obliviously, as the young dwarf was still gaping at the board. 

“...We'll need to be, clearly, Erebor can't let yer cunning mind out of its sight.”

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At least adequately rested now, Sigrid opened up the trunk left for Fili and found the wares the elves of Mirkwood had taken there, his coat, bracers, and all his weapons. She unpacked them all, smoothing her hands over the embroidery she knew his mother had sewn onto his leather duster. She'd seen similar markings on the gates of Erebor, on her passing glance. Such things denoted Lordship, he'd told her, having been particularly grieved at the loss of he and Kili's coats back in Laketown. Sig smiled to herself, carefully folding the travel-stained garment and setting it beside his mat, knowing how happy he'd be to have it back.

She couldn't help brushing a hand over her own dress, though, now her last piece of home, of her own mother's skill with a needle and thread, when she hadn't been much older than Sigrid. Stained with blood here, torn there. Finer things would come, even her own seldom-optimistic father had said so, now assured of his Lordship. It didn't change the fact that this was her only dress at the moment, and even as she planned to salvage it as best she could, she didn't much look the part of a Lord's daughter just now...

But oh well, she huffed, shaking her head. She'd toss on an apron or borrow a dress, if anything finer than tending to the wounded were asked of her. It was hardly the time to be concerned with such things, her mother's handiwork or no.

And yet, setting out his knives and daggers all in a row on top of the trunk, Sigrid knew fine weapons when she saw them. Embedded gems or finely tooled leather, set in the hilts of iron-forged and folded steel. Such small things, reminding her of how very real this all was. It took her a moment to realize she was feeling a bit of growing anxiety over it all. Fili really was a prince. He was alive, and his kingdom was intact, free of a dragon, and full of gold. 

And she was a bloodstained daughter of Men, heir to a ruin. 

Something inside of her chest tightened up, and then lurched. Sigrid found herself standing, suddenly, alerting her sister and Kili to her presence as she made to leave the tent, “...I-I need to borrow a dress, o-or...something.” Was all her explanation, before hurrying off to take some air.

 

“...See now, there's another thing.” Kili pointed out to Tilda, “Marry me, you'd have a lotta folks with their eyes on you.”

“I am real bad at keepin' my nails clean...”

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Evening was lately falling when Fili awoke again. The sharp pains were mostly gone now, replaced by an unpleasant ache all through his bones. Unpleasant he could handle, though, easing himself up to sit on his mat. Looking to his left, he saw that his own coat and knives were back in his possession, the borrowed things from Laketown tucked to the side, and a slow grin spread over his face. 

“Thranduil sends along his apologies, apparently,” Kili told him, already on his feet and dressed, the wrappings on his shoulder barely showing under his clothes. He knelt to help his brother on with his coat, mindful of the fresh bandages that were holding Fili's chest all together, or so it felt like. 

“Well, if that's not a sign the world's actually come to an end while I slept...” He glanced around the tent, automatically tucking his knives away in all their proper spots as Kili helped him with his boots. “Where's Sig?” 

“Oh,” Kili cleared his throat, and Fili frowned, watching him battle with a grin, “She ah, had an errand or two to see to...”

“I'm here, I'm here,” She blustered in even as Kili was speaking, brushing a hand through her rather damp hair. As she came close to Fili's side, smiling, he noted that her dress was looking slightly damp around the cuffs and hems as well, a clean new apron over the spots he'd so nicely stained with his blood the day before. She smelled quite nice as well, Fili noticed with a grin, still a bit dazed from his medicines and ducking his head to her shoulder to get a better whiff.

“Oi, who has soap?!” Kili asked, grinning wide, “And how didja dry that dress so quick? Omph!” Fili gave him a kick to the shins, even though it sent a tremor all through his aching limbs. It was worth it. Fili turned back to Sigrid, kissing her swiftly as she looped an arm under his, helping him up. 

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The walk was painful, every step making him sharply aware of his wounds, but Fili stubbornly refused to let it show beyond a grimace. Between his brother and Sigrid, he tilted his chin up and limped as steadily as he could across the camp, even managing a pained smile here and there to the dwarves and Men calling out to him, some even cheering. Blessedly, the walk wasn't far.

Outside of Thorin's tent a large figure was sitting, Beorn raising a huge, hairy arm in greeting to the princes. “He was there?” Fili asked, dazedly, and both of his escorts chuckled beside him. 

“He saved Thorin's life,” Sigrid told him softly, as the great Bear-Man turned back to feeding Dain's massive War-Boar bits of cabbage. Fili shook his head, waving back and letting himself be led inside. Soon, he'd have to have them all describe to him in careful detail exactly how the battle had gone.

The air inside of Thorin's tent was far more solemn, though, Fili felt it as soon as they slipped within. Almost immediately Sigrid was gone from his side, and his eyes followed her all the way to her father's place beside Gandalf in the far corner, wondering at her sudden anxiety, before snapping back to the scene before him. Bilbo, no worse for wear aside from a bandaged head, was fussing over a camp kettle above a fire of coals. A raised bed was near, Dain Ironfoot and his son on one side, Oin and Balin on the other, Thorin resting back against his pillows.

At first glance Fili did not think his Uncle looked too badly hurt. Certainly not as obviously wounded as himself. As he drew nearer, Dain rose, clasping his shoulders and giving him his seat at Thorin's side, Kili sitting at Thorin's feet, and then Fili saw the damage more clearly. Thorin was pale, gaunt, his chest thickly wrapped in cotton. And, taking his Uncle's hand on the bed, Fili noticed with a sharp gasp that under the blankets, Thorin's right leg was gone from the thigh down. 

“Azog's bloody beast,” Thorin rasped, his voice struggling to escape his throat, and Fili clutched his hand tighter. The King of Erebor smiled, though, shaking his head gently, “I hacked that Orc filth's head from his shoulders, after he threw you against the stone,” He told Fili proudly, “I'd have gladly died under his warg's teeth, for how brave you were...”

“He didn't, though,” Balin spoke up, smiling behind his beard, “Beorn in his bear's skin tore the pale Warg to pieces, and carried your Uncle to safety as Azog's army fled, picked apart from above by Gandalf's Eagles.” 

Fili grinned wide, and yet...he glanced about the room again, at those standing as if in wait for some specter, and then back to Thorin, his expression pained as his heart sank, “Uncle, why do they all look as if they're standing vigil?” He asked plainly, and Thorin sighed, looking to Oin, who dipped her head.

“The Warg's teeth tore into your Uncle's lungs, piercing them,” The old Healer told him, and Fili bit his lip hard, looking on Thorin fully, “The elves did a great work on him. But the mended lungs may last only, oh...a few years, at best, with the best care.”

“...So this isn't a death vigil, then?”

Thorin snorted, wheezing on a laugh, and it took Fili a moment to realize how he sounded, joining in with the scattered chuckles behind him. “Oh lad,” Thorin sighed, his voice low, a humbled, yet strong version of the dwarf lord Fili had known growing up, none of the mad king who'd banished him from his sight, from Erebor, “I intend on seeing many things, before I pass from this world...” he paused, as Bilbo brought him his tea, as nonchalant as could be, for the Burglar who'd helped bring about peace, “No, they all stand here as witnesses.”

“...Witnesses?”

Thorin met his eyes steadily then, setting his cup of tea to the side, after a sip, and speaking plainly, “I am so sorry for my words, for my weakness,” He rasped, “I wish I could...could make amends, there, could be stronger, and yet....Fili, Kili, I am not,” Thorin looked between the two of them, a great shame in his eyes, “I see...I saw, none of that weakness in you, not faced with the glow of Erebor's hoard, nor when you offered up the Arkenstone. I have won our home back, and I am fullfilled...but I do not think I can ever return, can ever rule it, even if I had all my long years still before me.”

The weight of Thorin's meaning fell upon him fully then, and shaking his head, Fili struggled to take in a breath. For all it had been a grim possibility down on the lake shore, here, faced with what his Uncle implied, Fili felt very unprepared indeed. “...Uncle, I do not think I am...”

“You are whole, are you not?” Some of Thorin's old sternness seeped into his straining voice, “You will live long years 'round me, and be the better Dwarf for it, won't you?”

“Oh, he'll be fully well soon enough,” Oin nodded, “The Lord of Dale's daughter stitched him back together herself, all that crushed flesh,” The healer gave him a meaningful look, her words laced with much, “The lad will be all the better for it, won't ye, Fili?”

“...Aye,” He nodded, drawing in a deep breath, drawing up his nerve, Sig's presence burning bright in his mind as he looked back to Thorin, “I'm whole. I'll....I'll do all you might ask of me, Uncle.”

“There now,” Thorin Oakenshield motioned to Balin, who smiled, bringing forward the same carved wooden box the Elven King had placed the Arkenstone in. Fili swallowed hard, giving the stone one quick glance, and then looking away as Balin shut it up again, “Fili, Son of My Sister Dis, I would name you King of Erebor and pass to you its rule and all its holdings, in the faith that I have taught you all you need to know, to rule far better than I ever might,” Thorin struggled on another breath, reaching out, resting a hand on his nephew's shoulder, “To this, what do you say?”

“I accept, Uncle,” Fili breathed, clasping Thorin's hand in turn, feeling as if an actual, weighty mantle had just fallen across his shoulders. A not unwelcome one, and yet...well. 

All he knew in that moment was that he was glad of his brother, and the girl he loved, being not too far from his side.

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	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, lots of Sigrid feeling a bit insecure. Never fear, Fili will get to feel thoroughly unworthy before long as well. Er, in a good way.

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Some had scars and some had scratches  
It made me wonder about their past  
And as I looked around I began to notice  
That we were nothing like the rest...

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There were whispers in this place, echoes of old ghosts in every corner, they were convinced. In one free, giddy afternoon, Sigrid, Bain and Tilda had gone laughing, whispering, playing hide and seek through the palace halls, discovering treasures and secrets in the cold, untouched rooms, no doubt left behind when Girion and his family had fled, and stumbling upon the summer nests of Ravens in the crumbled, scorched portions of their new home.

A fortnight after the battle was done, the lately-returned stone-masons, both Men and Dwarves, were plying their trade in Dale. The sounds of merry work rang through the awoken ruins from sun up to sun down. Yet Bard would hear none of their touching the Palace, not until his people were housed and warm for the winter. There were more than enough usable rooms in the Lord of Dale's ancestral home for he and his family, he said, and Sigrid could not help the bursting pride she felt for him. 

And besides, both she and Tilda agreed, if there were ghosts still wandering their home they felt very friendly, and perhaps happy of the company even, after so long.

“Coffee.” Sigrid spoke up primly that particular morning, as her father was moving to leave their makeshift kitchen set up in what was once, well, the kitchens. Bard smirked, shaking his head and doubling back to take the large stone mug his daughter held out to him.

“Not used to having it every morning yet,” He chuckled, “Especially whilst squatting in our own home.” None of them were, either. Even before the first ambassadors from Dale and Erebor had pushed off down the Anduin, weighed down with Dwarfish gold, gifts had come up from the South, along with the descendants of those who'd fled those lands long ago. They came daily now, ready to work and bringing food and supplies, drunk on the promise of what Dale had once been. 

“Best get used to it, Lord,” Sigrid smiled, taking back his mug after he'd drained it. Bard left her with a kiss to the top of her head.

“I'll see you at supper time, Lady,” He told her, taking the nearby stairs up into the chilly halls, out onto the cluttered streets of his retaken city. After cleaning up the few dishes from breakfast and carefully banking the coals Sigrid ventured out as well, tugging a thick cloak on over her grey winter dress. One of the ones she'd found in Lady Inga's suite, it was plain yet well-made, and while it had been a little musty and dusty when she'd found it packed in paper in a sealed trunk, such things were no match for Inga's descendant and a tub of hot wash water.

For all her warm, new-to-her clothes, though, winter up on the Mountain was beastly. Stepping out into the streets Sigrid winced, bracing herself for the icy winds that whipped between the buildings and pierced deep into her bones. She'd thought she knew ice and cold and winter very well, having grown up on the lake, but this would certainly take getting used to. Her eyes caught on far-off Erebor at that thought, able to see the repaired gates from where she stood. Fili had told her the tales of how warm the heart of the mountain was, even in deepest winter...

Not far from the palace was another great old ruin, once the banquet hall of a long-gone lesser lord. One of the best-preserved buildings in Dale, Oin had almost immediately claimed it for the wounded and sick. “They need the sturdy walls and roof more than any of us,” She'd stated, and Sigrid had heartily agreed. A fortnight on there were still a good number of those recovering from the Battle, as well as those who'd taken ill on the lakeshore, moved up to the drier, better air in the mountains to get better.

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“This is learning your letters?” Sigrid paused just inside of the Healer's Hall, as it had come to be known. By the warm braziers, Tilda had been aiming at some point on the wall with her slingshot, the dwarf Ori just behind her giving her pointers. The latter cleared his throat loudly, turning bright red under Sigrid's scrutiny. Behind them both, the table piled with Ori's inkwells and papers looked long-abandoned.

“Bain isn't learnin' them either!” Tilda defended herself stoutly, and Sigrid sighed.

“Bain is off with Da today, watching him talk to the merchants,” She explained, “He'll be Lord of Dale himself one day, so that's school for him, too.”

“Well, what if I wanna grow up and be a guard, huh?” Tilda lifted her little chin, Ori grinning wide and goofy behind her. Sigrid gave him a squint.

“Dwarves, terrible influences, all of you,” She sighed, grinning, throwing up her hands and moving to go into the Hall, “Just...make sure she reads something today too!”

“Aye, princess!” 

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Princess. 

It was a warm greeting repeated over and over as she moved between the rows of the recovering, of the sick behind their curtains. Sigrid wasn't used to it, not at all, turning a little red still as those she'd tended gave her grateful smiles, clasping her hand as she checked heartbeats and fevers. Most of the elven healers had gone, only a few remaining to instruct the Men of Dale who'd taken up the craft, thus Sigrid tried to chock up the people's gratitude to hers simply being a consistent face.

“They adore you,” Zoria pointed out, as if reading the girl's thoughts as she brought her good, hot soup around to every bedroll. Sigrid shook her head, but Zoria would have none of it, “No, do not even try to deny it,” The woman smiled, nudging her, “Bard's been good to 'em, but we both know he doesn't much come across as warm at all times. You do. You've been his best ambassador, to his new subjects.”

“I only wanted to help,” Sigrid murmured, grinning a little, “But if you say so...”

“Trust me,” Zoria kissed her cheek, “...Go see to your lad, girl, before he leaves.”

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Ah yes, that was happening today as well. Sigrid had tried her best to put it from her mind, despite his very bedside being her aim. That morning Fili would at last leave his room at the end of the Hall and make his return to Erebor, well enough to leave the watchful eyes of the Elves at last and be put in Oin's care. The King would be ruling from his proper kingdom, and while Sigrid was beyond pleased at how well and thoroughly he'd healed, that anxious thing was twisting inside of her again, as she passed through the hall.

The small chambers just off the one great hall had perhaps once been private receiving rooms. Now they housed Dale's two royal patients, Thorin to the left, Fili to the right. Knocking once on Fili's door, his bright call for her to enter made Sigrid smile in spite of herself, slipping inside and shutting the door behind her.

He was sitting on the edge of his big, salvaged bed, already in the fine clothes sent down to him from Erebor...half of them, anyway, still inspecting the scars on his bare chest with a frown. On seeing Sigrid, Fili's whole face lit up, that easy grin on his lips easing the tension in her chest, at least for a moment. “I was hopin' you'd be here before I left.” He tugged her forward, framing her face in his hands as he drew her in for a kiss. 

Sigrid sighed blissfully into his mouth, yet as she felt him smile her breath tripped over the knot in her throat, and she drew back, looking away, “...Let me clean them once more,” She murmured, reaching for one of the many jars on his bedside table. His eyes followed her closely, she could feel them, see the frown creasing his brow as she dabbed at his mostly-closed scars.

“Sig...” Fili whispered, as she kept her own eyes on her task. Until he reached out again, tilting up her chin. Sigrid swallowed hard, struggling to meet his gaze, his bewildered little smile, “...You've been gettin' like this more and more, lass. What's the matter?” She shut her eyes, shaking her head, cleaning the last healing scar before setting aside his medicine.

“Just...all of this,” She stammered, trying to put the right words to the feeling, to her unsteady nerves, her nervous heart, drawing in a deep breath. “After today, you really will be King under the Mountain, with much asked of you, much expected...”

“Yer far along that road yerself, you know,” He reminded her with a smile, sliding a hand along the fine, if simple black-and-grey embroidery at her waist. Sigrid bit her lip, unable to help a little grin in return, “Next few months will be plenty busy, aye, but Sig...” Fili pressed a kiss to her cheek, “By Spring, you'll have my gold in yer hair and I'll have yer father's trust.”

“I...I know you mean that,” Her whisper was barely audible, Sigrid knew, but she was proud of how steady her voice still was, in that moment, “But your...your mother makes her way to the Mountain,” She reminded him, and he paused, listening, “Your people return home, families a-and dwarf lasses, and folk all around you, expecting certain things of their King.” She took in a deep breath, steadying her features, “I love you, but I do not think I'll be what's expected.” 

Fili stared at her, and Sigrid shut her eyes tightly. She wasn't sure what she'd expected in response to her honesty, to telling him the fears that had curled in her chest ever since the Battle, since their homes had been won. 

Her fear that for all their promises, she would ultimately lose him to Erebor. 

When he did react, at last, it was to tug her into his arms, holding her hard and fast and winding a hand tightly in her loosely-braided hair. “I said it once in passing, when we sat outside your home on the Lake,” He murmured fiercely into her ear, and Sigrid ducked her head to rest on his shoulder, “I say it now as a King: I don't care,” Sig coughed on a wry laugh, but Fili drew back, framing her face again and looking on her as seriously as she'd ever seen him do. It made her heart hammer in her chest, and something warm curl in her belly, all at once, “S'only worth havin' a home if I know you'll be there one day too,” Fili vowed to her, “I'll gladly give my folk all they want and need. But yer all I want lass, all I'll ever love. And I'll make it known straight away.”

Sigrid sighed, slumping, pressing her face to his shoulder again, her arms around his warm chest, “It's still just...so hard to believe it's all happened, I suppose...” She knew he wouldn't ask what she meant, he knew. 

“Makes two of us. Rightly, I'm terrified of takin' that throne all proper,” Fili gulped, his nervousness all in his voice, and that made Sigrid feel a little better, clutching him tightly. So often, he seemed so assured, so optimistic. “With Balin, Kili and Dwalin all 'round me, Thorin in the valley, I'm still not sure I'll have any idea how to rule.”

“Yeah?” Sigrid drew back, reaching up to brush a hand over his braids, and he nodded, eyes mapping her features closely. She felt her face warm as he did. “You'll be a fine King, I'm already sure of it.”

“Yer the only thing I'm sure of right now, Sigrid,” Fili admitted to her, and she smiled, looking down as he rested his hands on her hips.

“...So spring, aye?” She murmured, and that smarmy grin of his was back. Sliding his hands over her thighs, he tugged her into his lap with ease, and with a breathless little laugh, Sigrid wondered at how the strength in those arms of his always took her by surprise. 

“Spring,” He nodded, trailing kisses up under her jaw, his rough hands skimming back up her hips, her waist. “I'll ask to court ya proper, clasp a bit of shine to mark the promise in yer hair...”

“So sure he'll say yes?” Sigrid grinned, her own fingers tracing his chest, having memorized by now where he was healed, which wounds were still tender, and all the raised scars and rough yellow hair in between. 

“Y'know real well how convincing I can be!” Fili joked, and Sigrid snickered, and then sucked in a sharp breath as he bit her neck gently, loosing the ties on the back of her dress with one quick motion.

“...Aye,” She breathed, turning her head to catch his lips, to wrap her arms around his shoulders as he lowered her to the bed. For a time they both simply relished the feeling, their mouths fused for moments unending, before they both began to move again. Her hands slid up into his hair, his still tugging at her dress 'til it was loose around her shoulders, “....And after the Spring?” 

Her breath was short, as he bent down with a wondering, wide smile, pressing little kisses across the tops of her breasts, her hands gripping his hair tight as he did, “Oh, I'll make sure to spend the summer courting you proper, fixin' up our home...” He whispered, “This time next year, you'll be havin' me in our own bed...”

“Promises, promises,” She breathed, before he was kissing her lips again, fiercely, one hand sliding under her stays yet still over her chemise, a thumb brushing over a nipple through the thin fabric. Sigrid let out a high gasp, biting his lip as she did. He growled into her mouth, grinning, pressing against her as she tugged him ever closer, and while she didn't really think it would have gone too much further, that she wasn't quite yet ready, she knew part of her really, really wanted it to...

Alas, it was decided for them by a loud knock on the door.

 

“OI LAD, WE'RE HERE!” Dain Ironfoot's voice boomed from outside, and Sigrid barely stifled a yelp. Fili flat-out fell on the floor. “Get it back in yer pants and get outside, so ye kin start rulin' yer own kingdom an' I kin go home!” The other King laughed, and Fili covered his face with his palms, groaning.

“Be right with ya, cousin!”

Sigrid didn't think she could be any redder, though the grin on her face seemed fixed there. Lacing her dress back up and setting it to rights in the space of seconds, she steadied her breath, turning when Fili took her hand and tugged her back to him for a kiss. Standing, she had to dip her head to reach his lips, his grip tight on her slender waist. “Springtime,” She whispered, still breathless.

“Springtime,” He promised, linking his fingers with hers.

 

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	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't plan on somewhat leaving you on a cliff, but ah well, it was getting long. At least you can rest assured that the following chapter will be up soon.
> 
> Also apologies if my writing does slow a little, I have some pretty unfun health things going on right now, that make sitting upright for prolonged periods pretty painy. Hopefully I'll get them sorted soon.

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The winter was as busy as expected, and then some. Both Lords in and just below the Lonely Mountain saw the frigid months filled with rebuilding, the establishment or renewing of old trade agreements, and endless gold sent far from Erebor, in good faith, to other kingdoms or as a promise to those who'd once lived in Erebor and Dale. If there were any still watching, warily, for a telling sign of stinginess from the young King Under the Mountain, they did so in vain. Erebor was growing grand indeed, finely furnished and stocked, the forges ringing at all hours, but its neighbors were growing right along with it, trade returning by the day.

Fili's days were taken up from morning to night, and it was fulfilling indeed seeing his people come home, the Men of Dale and Esgaroth fed and housed. Dwalin had gone to fetch Dis from the West almost as soon as Fili was on his throne, and in Dale below Thorin wintered in a small house near Bard's hall, his strength returning, if not all his spirit, Bilbo watching over him like some kind of fierce housekeeper and caretaker. Kili, while still his everlasting, merry self, had taken on the ordering of Erebor and Dale's rangers and hunters with a relish, tempting living creatures back into the mountains even as they fed folk, and chasing off what orc filth lingered in the hills.

Fili was pleased, his heart near-bursting when he actually took pause to look over his kingdom, to take it all in...but of course, as soon as he took pause, he recalled who was still missing from his side, and his mind would be far afield again, looking down on the snowy valley, on Dale's rising spires.

Perhaps it was good that Sigrid had left the mountain, with the last of the Elven healers, not long after he'd taken his throne. If she were there, well, Fili was sure his duties would suffer for all the times he'd venture down to Dale. She was only as far away as the settlement around the rebuilding of Esgaroth though, to be under the continued instruction of the elves at their post there, tending the people through a harsh winter.

The thought always did make him smile. Sigrid was determined to be a proper Healer, to be there to serve her people and to never sit idle as a Lord's daughter...or as a Queen.

At last the snows on the mountain turned to rain, and the first green things began to show themselves between gravel and stone, now that Smaug's poisonous influence had been leeched from the soil. The elves began to return to help the Men of Dale with their planting, and soon Sigrid would be returning as well. Much of his own kingdom well in hand, Fili was finally able to make his errand to the city below Erebor's gates, taking audience with Bard in the Man's home.

The excitement over the spring, and over the return of their Princess, had the folk of Dale merry indeed, a planting festival planned for the following week even as only perhaps a quarter of their city was rebuilt. Passing through the inhabited streets between his guards, Fili couldn't keep the grin from his face, as folk called greetings his way in the cool sunshine. The air smelt of things sweet, things cooking...there was even music playing here and there, children laughing and playing in the courtyards and alleyways. No children were in Erebor yet, and the sight made Fili's heart ever lighter. 

Bard was in his home (the Man refused to refer to it as a palace, though it was almost done being rebuilt and returned to its old glory), receiving Fili in what had once been Girion's study, a room high in the palace that opened on to a wide balcony over-looking the city. The wind that blew up to them was cool, but already smelling of spring and growing things, carrying with it some briny scent from the Long Lake. 

The former Bargeman, Bowman, Smuggler, Dragon-Slayer, and now Lord, turned from the view and gave a bow before the King, though Fili quickly waved it off, “I've crawled through yer plumbing and dried off in yer old clothes, Lord Bargeman, I'd like it if we weren't ever formal, when's just the two of us.” Bard snorted, grinning, shaking his head.

“No arguments from me there, King of The Loo,” He moved toward a large desk in the otherwise sparse room, pouring them each a glass of wine from the bottle resting there. “Take care, that's Dorwinion, from up the river.”

“There's some irony,” Fili noted with a grin, giving a salute. From transporting barrels and/or riding in them, to freely drinking the Elves' wine. He could tell that Bard took his meaning, smiling in turn around a drink.

“Aye, I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't enjoy that side of things a fair bit,” Bard replied, motioning for Fili to join him on the balcony. “Now then, what brings the King of Erebor to my door? You might have sent for me to see you on your throne, as is your due...” Bard spoke easily enough, yet Fili could hear the searching undertone in his voice, the way his keen, archer's eye missed little of the dwarf's reactions. 

“I imagine you've guessed,” Fili approached the balustrade, a hand going to the square gold locket that clasped his fine, fur-lined blue cloak, a certain scrap of blue calico and curl of golden hair set inside, “Sigrid returns in a matter of days...”

“...And after the festival, shall take up the rest of her apprenticeship with Lady Oin, aye,” Bard nodded, his expression gone pensive, distant, glancing to the inner courtyard directly below. The Lady Zoria was there, brushing Tilda's hair as the little girl read aloud from what sounded like a schoolbook. Zoria's dark, naturally thick hair was done up in a braided fashion that any dwarf Lady would envy, though her clothes mostly lacked ornamentation, for how fine they were. Much like Bard dressed himself, a bit of gold denoting Lordship here and there but otherwise he did not flaunt his position. Men were different this way, Fili was learning. Where dwarves responded to wealth and strength, Men, especially those recovering from a great loss, perhaps did not need or want a leader who set himself above them in such a way. Certainly not after a leader like The Master...

Fili roused himself from his musing, noting how Bard softened as he looked on the pair, and tried not to let on how much the prolonged silence was giving him anxiety.

“I...admit to you, King...” Bard began, rubbing a hand over the beard he'd begun to let go, “Even as things have gone well, I'm findin' it hard to rest easy, on any matter,” The Lord of Dale let out a long sigh, “You would ask for my leave to court my daughter. Zoria would like me for a husband already.” He shook his head, a grim smirk on his mouth then, “Yet it is difficult for me, still, to believe that no harm would come to them again.”

“I do not think yer alone in that, Lord,” Fili replied, slowly, looking on the Man steadily, “And I know that all I can give you is my word...”

“And your actions, which have spoken much to me, to this point,” Bard sighed, shaking his head again, this time the smile far less dismal, “Ah, he said, to The King Under The Mountain,” He chuckled. 

“Youngling King, I'm the first to say it.”

“Aye, you are that, for all you're twice my years,” Bard dipped his head, “You have my blessing to court Sigrid. I know she'd likely do so with or without it, but...” Fili shook his head, trying to keep himself steady as he did, for all the happiness filling his heart just then.

“I'm not sure she would,” He said, steadily, honestly, for all he knew of her, “Sig loves you dearly, Lord. S'important to her, that I have yer leave.”

“Already currying favor,” Bard chuckled, though his gaze quickly sharpened, “Though I do have my conditions...”

 

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She almost didn't realize that the cries going up from Dale were mainly for her. 

The people were excited by the Elves' return, for it meant the tilled, healing earth outside their walls would soon see planting, as the fields around the Esgaroth settlement now were. They were just as thrilled to see Sigrid, though, and tearing her eyes away from the mended buildings and spires around her, as she and Tauriel rode toward her father's hall, the young princess realized that they were calling out her name, welcoming her home. Women and children she'd seen through sickness and burns, men whose battle wounds she'd sewn up. While it made her just a little bashful, she was also all the more glad to be there.

Not that home was all that familiar! Four months away and her ancestral hall had finally seen repairs, almost returned to its former glory. For the first time in her life, Sigrid had her own room...rooms, even, a suite of them, containing a bed chamber, a solar, and a bath. She turned 'round in her solar at least three times, before settling on the one chair there. They were lovely, large rooms, with big windows and her own walkways up on the walls. Yet they were still very empty. Sigrid found herself almost missing the cramped little room at the back of the house she'd shared with Tilda, out on the Lake. In time though, she knew, books and clothes and cushions would fill this place, and the gathered bits of herself that made a place one's own. 

At that thought a wide grin spread over her face, and she rummaged in her bags. Being on the shores of the Lake, near both the ruins of her home and the place where Esgaroth was being rebuilt, Sigrid had spent a lot of time thinking on all the things that had been lost along with her old house, small as it was. And so her free time down on the Lake shore, when she was not busy battling the persistent fevers and work-related injuries there, was spent remaking what small sorts of trinkets she could think up, for her new home.

Now she set them around her rooms. The scraps of her mother's dress, which she'd made into a cushion for a lady's jewelry, went on the restored old vanity. The herbs in little pots, like she'd always had around the kitchen, went on casements and sills under the spring sunshine. She'd cut out the embroidered flowers from her old, favorite blouse and set them under glass to hang on the walls, and she'd made up a jar of pine sprigs and shore grass in water, to fill her rooms with the scent of the Lake. One of the simple, Esgaroth-made daggers Fili had armed himself with, that they'd tossed into the Master's walls that first night he'd kissed her, rested by her hairbrush.

She'd also saved one of the buttons from her mum's harvest dress and had it set in some gifted gold from Erebor, cleverly looking fine for all it was a peasant's faux gem, shaped like a tiny berry cluster.

Sigrid pinned it to Bard's tunic herself that night, smiling and kissing his cheek outside of his rooms, before the feasting. “You look very grand, King of Dale,” She told him, standing back to inspect him in all his low-key finery, tunic and coat of blue and red silk, a simple silver circlet on his brow. Bard chuckled, waving a dismissive hand, but Sigrid would have none of it, giving him her best squint, “None of that. S'not kingly!”

“As you say,” Bard sighed, smiling, looking her over once, “Your mother would be beside herself to see you, Sig.” He told her, and Sigrid was pleased, smoothing her hands over the pale blue gown that had been waiting for her on her return. It was just her taste too, even though she'd never before had such nice things. Zoria had no doubt had a hand in it. Her favorite color and trimmed in gold, her sleeves brushing the floor, her under-skirt printed with blue and white lake-lilies. She'd worn her wavy hair long that night as well, braided back simply and clipped with Lady Inga's treasures, leafy pins made in gold foil.

“...Is he here?” She found herself asking, looking on her father carefully, and Bard smiled at her again, kissing her brow.

“Aye, and will show not long after I do...ah...” Her da was suddenly stumbling over his words, and Sigrid saw why, grinning wide herself as Zoria appeared, leaving Bard's suite in a rustle of deep red skirts. Her braids elaborately done, her cheeks flush as she took the offered arm of the King, Sigrid did not think she'd ever seen either of them look softer, happier, than when they looked on each other just then. And it made her heart light.

“Tilda has escaped me, I fear,” Zoria spoke, biting her lip, and Sigrid blinked, “I'm not quite sure what was bothering her, but half-way through doin' her hair, and she just...” The other woman made a fluttering motion with her hand, gesturing off down the halls. Sig could easily imagine her little sister's manner of fleeing, and sighed, shaking her head.

“I'll hunt her down,” She vowed, smiling to her concerned father and his lady, “Go, you're expected in the hall. I'll sort her out, I'm sure.”

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It didn't take long. Sigrid found her sister holed up in one of the still-damaged rooms of the palace, arms 'round her knees and sitting on a ruined wall, looking down on the city. Tilda's face was streaked and blotchy, and the hem of the fine, lace-trimmed green dress she'd been put in was at least three inches caked in dust. Gingerly lifting her dress to avoid the same fate, Sigrid approached her carefully, tilting her head.

“Now, here's a fine way to welcome me home.” She spoke, and Tilda was startled, blinking, before leaping up and running to her sister, hugging her around her waist. Sigrid swallowed, hugging her back tightly. Oh, how she had missed her. And had been missed. Zoria was wonderful and loved them both, but in that moment Sigrid really appreciated just how much Tilda still saw _her_ as her mum. “...Is it the dress or the people?” Sigrid asked, gently, her heart churning. Tilda nodded against her.

“Both,” She admitted, her little voice muffled by Sigrid's skirts. “...I don't feel brave in this.”

“Gotcha,” Sigrid nodded, slowly, thinking. “...Come'on,” She took Tilda's hand, leading her toward her rooms, “I've got new sewing things in my room. Let us see what we can do.”

“Won't we be late? Won't da be cross?” Tilda hiccuped, looking up at her, “A-and Fili's here and all...”

“The festival's all week,” Sigrid grinned wide, “And you still come first.”

In the end the crisis was averted within an hour, with some clever use of shears and some timely inspiration in the form of Tauriel. The elf captain wore fine clothes that night as well, only her long airy skirts were split to the waist, and she wore her usual leggings and boots underneath, her daggers at her hip. The elf captain had a little twin in the younger princess, whom Sigrid stole a pair of their brother's trousers for, hemming and trimming them in the green lace from the little dress as well. 

“All that before the sun set,” Tauriel smiled wide, taking Tilda's hand just outside the hall. The girl was quite confidant now, her hair plaited like an elf's, stepping into the mingling crowd of revelers and merchants and Lords with her little chin up at Tauriel's side. And Sigrid realized that, in easing her sister's nerves, she'd almost forgotten her own. 

They riled up again now, though, her heart hammering and her stomach flopping over, as her father spotted her in the entryway and called out her arrival.

 

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	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I write my virgins like I write my everything: smarmy and frustrated.

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The crowd was already thick in Bard's hall, common people, merchants, and noble folk all come together from Dale, Erebor, and Esgaroth. All brought food and drink, and all mingled freely, laughing and merry. Aside from a few high tables for his family and honored guests, Bard had drawn no line between classes, for indeed, they were all struggling and succeeding together in those days. Fili had no doubt that, especially with so many of his kin present, the celebrating would spill out into the streets and the few restored taverns before the night was too far along. 

For now the King was scanning the crowd carefully from his seat of honor at the vast table. Bard had taken his own spot at the head, Lady Zoria at his side, but Fili did not spot the rest of his family anywhere, yet. The music had started up, folk had begun dancing, the dwarves in his large escort providing most of the raucous music, yet still Fili sat. Sitting to his left Kili gave him a hearty nudge to his side, and he cringed, hard. “Oi, still got some messy ribs in there, thanks!” Fili grumbled. Around his ale though, his brother just laughed.

“For pity's sake, smile,” He teased, gesturing at the milling crowd, the musicians striking up another lively, Dwarvish tune, “Folk are starting to notice the King of Erebor looking grim!”

“I dunnae look grim! Just...nerves, is all,” Fili grumbled, reaching for his own mug filled with a thick stout, and Kili laughed long and loud at him. Whatever reply his little brother had waiting on his tongue, though, it was lost as soon as the Elf Captain slipped into the festivities, hand-in-hand with little Tilda. Fili chuckled, watching his brother jump up to take the lady's hand, though not forgetting to compliment the Lord of Dale's youngest on her fine garb as well. Tilda's smile could have lit a forge. 

Then Fili saw the Lord of Dale rise, beaming and gesturing at the wide open doors, his normally reserved, rough voice gone loud, commanding the crowd. “People of Dale, and our honored guests! Lately returned home from tending the ailing of Esgaroth, my daughter Sigrid!”

A clamor went up from the crowd, folk joyfully calling out her name, recalling her healing hands, her steadfast presence and yes, her beauty. Fili's higher brain functions were far afield in the moment, staring like a lad dumbstruck as she slipped into the hall, shooting her father a wry glare and then a smile as she did. “Her hair's grown longer,” He murmured to no one in particular, Bofur chuckling to his left. 

“Aye, hair tends to do that, lad.” The tinker reminded him.

It was true, though. Her long blonde hair reached her elbows now, braided at the temples and set with golden leaves, swinging as she turned her head...looking for him, he realized almost too late, stumbling to his feet.

She'd always been beautiful, and being dressed all in blue and white and gold only made her seem to shine brighter. For a time, he forgot that he was King of a mighty stronghold, and all he knew of himself was that the princess of Dale was looking on him, out of a crowd of hundreds. And he was moving to her side through the crush, her bright eyes alighting on him and widening, a smile spreading over that face he'd so missed.

“My Lord,” Sigrid murmured, dropping to a rough bow before him. To offer the formalities expected of them, Fili knew. And frankly did not care, as he took a hold of her waist and kissed her, before all those gathered, her slender arms automatically winding around his shoulders. A sigh went up from the revelers, even some scattered applause as he drew back, looking on her face. She blinked a few times, before smiling back, dazedly. “...So, I'm guessing you've spoken to da, then,” Sig noted, biting her lip, just before he lifted her up in his arms, spinning her around, her goofy laughter filling the hall. Taller though she was, she was still as light as ever in his arms.

“Gods lass, I missed you,” He told her, smiling like the biggest of idiots he was quite sure, setting her back on her feet. A shyness swept over her features, though her gaze was as sharp as ever, letting him take her hand and lead her back to the table.

“Did you then? I confess, my days were a bit too busy to be troublin' myself with Kings,” She teased, for all that her cheeks had gone ruddy, and Fili laughed, kissing her knuckles. 

They gave another bow before her father's seat, and Bard gave a dramatically dismissive wave of the hand, pretending to be thoroughly done with the pair of them even as he sent his daughter a wink. Fili saw, with a chuckle, that his companions had conveniently vacated their seats around his own, Bofur and Balin gone to join the musicians, Kili off...somewhere, with the Captain, Fili noted with a passing concern. But then he was pulling out a seat for his lass, who had him all caught up in her wide eyes and wide smile, and Kili and his odd attachment was far from his mind once more.

“You look Kingly indeed,” Sigrid murmured as he sat beside her, the both of them turning toward each other, chairs close together. Fili's was set a bit higher, being a King, and while they were in view of many, the tables were set against the walls, not as a focal point, and so they were relatively removed, mostly unnoticed as they spoke quietly, closely, an undercurrent of giddiness threading their manner. She reached up to brush a hand over the fur on his coat, to lightly touch the mithril crown at his brow.

“Should see the proper, heavy one I wear when I sit the throne of Erebor, can barely lift m'head after a while,” Fili joked, biting his lip as he looked on her, “...Think such finery fits you far better. Y'look beautiful.” And oh how she did, too, with the candlelight on her long hair, her pale arms in their pooling sleeves, the color in her cheeks. Yet still she was his dismissive, smarmy girl, shaking her head, eyes half-lidded as she met his gaze. 

“I'll do,” Her head tilted, looking on him closely then, her expression searching, her hand moving to his chest, “Has everything been healing properly? You've not been straining yourself?”

“Er, yes to the first...and the second, actually,” Fili winced, and she sent him a glare, “There's not much help for it! M'the King of a kingdom that's still bein' rebuilt, I see little rest.”

“Let _yourself_ rebuild,” Sigrid murmured, still sending him that glare as he bent to kiss her again, lips brushing her temple.

“I'll yield to your scoldin', now that you'll be close-by,” He whispered into her hair, and she sighed, shifting in her seat. Fili swallowed hard, forcing himself to move back a space, her large eyes holding him, full of oh, so much. “I ah, I brought you a gift.” He cleared his throat, reaching into one of his pockets, pushing aside the daggers there, pressing a small silver box into her hands. “Keepin' another promise.”

Sigrid lofted a brow, grinning as she lifted the lid of the ornate little thing. “...Your gold in my hair,” She murmured, her smile widening as she touched the small gold-and-silver beads within, all of them set with flower-shaped, blue gems. Her expression went teasing again, though, sending him a look, “So then, you think I'll just let myself be courted, without your asking me properly?” Fili paused, blinking, “Oi, Lordship surely has gone to your head...”

“...Mahal, you spin a lad,” He winced, scrubbing at his beard as she laughed at his side, loud and merry. He could feel his face warming and did not care, reaching for his mug and taking a long drink, before turning back to her, taking one of her hands and pressing it to his lips, “Sigrid, havin' yer Da's leave, may I court you?” She pretended to look thoughtful again, and Fili thought his sides might start to ache.

“Hmm. I mean, the Woodland Prince down on the lake, while I was trainin'? He was quite keen on me as well I think...” She noted, airily, eyes drifting to the ceiling. Fili let out a growl, reaching for her, half-way tugging her into his lap as she laughed, “Oi! Aye, I'm all yours!” Sigrid grinned, kissing him gently, “...Braid them in?” She asked, softly, and he obliged, letting her hair slide through his fingers a few times before braiding in some simple plaits.

“Had these made special,” He told her, looping the braids easily, setting them with the four beads which, while much more feminine, were shaped much like his own. Sigrid noted as much outloud, touching her hair carefully, and Fili nodded, “Mine were made t'look like my da's,” He told her, grinning as she lightly tugged on one of the braids in his beard. He'd told her, once, as she set his hair to rights when he was in the Hall of Healing, of some of the traditions Dwarves had in regards to hair, to beards,“As the oldest and all, s'usual to carry on some trinkets, lads from their da, lasses from their mum.”

“I'm guessin' you look more like him than your brother does, as well?” She ventured, and Fili chuckled, nodding.

“Got all his yellow hair,” He reached up to touch her hair again, kissing one of her braids lightly, “Yer mum was of the race of Men, so, I had 'em made with the flowers, like on that dress of hers...”

Sigrid clutched his hand tighter then, for a moment, kissing his cheek, “They're perfect, beautiful...I've nothin' so fine to mark you with, though.” She told him, softly, shyly, but Fili only grinned.

“Y'already did,” He admitted, tapping the pin nestled in the fur of his cloak, that held her lock of hair lightly. “Givin' a lad yer hair, now that's a downright marryin' action, there...” He informed her, and Sigrid blushed, scrunching up her nose. 

“So I was bold first then, good,” She maintained, in spite of her bashfulness. Fili loved it. They were disgustingly besotted, he was well aware. And while there was a heat between them, always, a pull that muddied his head and stole his breath, Sigrid wasn't letting it command her, for all he knew it was alien and new for her, that she'd never had a beau before. It made him seem the fumbling lad, and again, he loved it. Loved her.

“I missed you so,” He whispered, lips pressed to her brow once more. Her slender hand gripped his arm tight, a murmur leaving her lips.

“As I missed you...” She drew back slowly, returning to her own seat reluctantly, though primly, smoothing her skirts and sending him a smile, “So thank goodness that's over.”

“Aye,” Fili beamed out on the revelry, reaching for his mug of beer again, as his lady motioned to a serving lad, who brought her a large glass of wine. The folk of the East united and feasting and making merry, his people brought home, and Sigrid at his side. All felt as it should, at least for that moment.

 

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The night wasn't terribly far along before Sigrid felt quite all right with being a little undignified, the princess swinging into the dancing and merry-making freely. She did not know much of royalty or lordship, only what she'd seen of the Master growing up, really, but she'd gotten the firm impression that restraint, a certain air of grace perhaps, were probably required. But while her father came by his subdued nature naturally, Sigrid most certainly didn't, and neither did the folk of Erebor, the common people of Dale, or the Lake. She was all her mother, Lake-born to the bones and without pretension.

She secretly hoped that they would always remain like this, their music loud, their people without affectations. They'd rebuilt themselves, they should remain themselves, not imitations of what other great kingdoms perhaps were. 

When her head began to get a bit dizzy, for she'd never had elven wine in her life, Sigrid waved off any drink stronger than water for the rest of the evening, but that did not mean her cheer subsided. She was fair certain she'd danced with all the dwarves, and then all the merchant's sons, and even been taken for a turn or two by the Woodland Prince, Fili's stare burning a hole in the back of Legolas' head the whole while. 

“I'd best send you back, Lady,” The elf quipped after the last reel, bowing smoothly, “Lest I start another war.”

“I would laugh, yet...” Sigrid grinned, letting Fili take her hand up again swiftly. She looked on her fellow with some amount of amusement, lofting a brow, “He's got no eye for Daughters of Men, you know. Few Elves ever do.”

“He's still got eyes,” Fili grumbled, though his expression was wry, smirking. 

The night had all but died by now, Sigrid realized with a start, looking around her, at least in the Hall. It was well past midnight, and her father and younger siblings had long retired. Most of the revelers had migrated outside to drink and sing in the deep, springtime night, and those that lingered in the hall were the weary minstrels, the dwarves and elves who were taking lodging in Bard's home that night, and the unlucky who'd been a bit too jolly a bit too early, passed out at tables, or under them. Sigrid found she was unable to keep back a yawn herself, her limbs suddenly feeling heavy, sleepy.

“Mmm, perhaps my night has come to it's end as well,” She spoke with a low croon, carefully stepping over sleeping bodies and fallen cups. Sending a look to the King, smiling shyly as she did, Sigrid found her boldness, asking carefully, “Will you see me to my rooms, Lord?”

“Oh, happily,” He cleared his throat, offering his arm properly, and Sigrid took it, “Who knows what might be lurkin' in these old halls, this night...though, you'll be the one guidin' me along.” Sigrid laughed, softly, shaking her head as they left the grand room behind for one of the many narrow halls leading into the rest of the palace. The warm torchlight was instantly traded for the cool blue light of the stars, the moon in the clear night cast freely through the wide arches open to the breeze whispering 'round the mountain.

“It's not that hard, once you get your bearings,” She murmured, her voice instantly softening away from the weary celebrants. They could hear the calls, the singing and merry shouting wafting up from the city here, still, though it was muffled and seeming very far away. Sigrid could hear the brush of her own long skirts and sleeves on the marble floors, Fili's chuckles at her side echoing a bit, as they hurried through the haunted, lovely place.

“Aye, Erebor is far more of a maze,” He noted quietly, as they turned corners and wandered deeper within, “But the bigger halls and palaces of Men have a logic I still don't fully understand.” He admitted, as she paused just before the doors to her suite of rooms. 

“Looks over function, I think...” She murmured into the hazy quiet, drawing in a breath as she looked at him, swallowing hard. Sigrid knew what she wanted to ask just then, mustering her courage and meeting his eyes steadily, refusing to let herself be distracted by their blueness, by the way his lips were parting, watching her, “Would you s-stay with me, tonight?” She asked, swiftly, her hands twisting in her skirts.

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes gone half-lidded and warm and Sigrid had to look away, a heat stirring within her as it so often did when he stared at her like that, when he drew nearer. Which he did presently, taking her hand and looking up at her with the intensity of the warrior he was under all that kingly garb, “...Aw Mahal, do I wish I could,” His voice came out strained, pressing the back of her hand to his lips.

“You're already staying in the city tonight...” Sigrid ventured softly, bolder now that he'd responded so, reaching out to brush her fingers along his jaw with her free hand, her voice unwavering, “No one'll find out, and...and if they do, we're near as engaged anyway.”

“Oh, love, believe me, I want to,” He assured her, his voice gone low, rough, a fire in his fine blue eyes as he looked on her fully, and Sigrid's breath caught in her lungs, “I'd have our nights together start now an' never end, and yet...” He winced, stepping back with what seemed a mighty effort, shaking his head, “Ahhh, I made a promise to yer father though, when he gave me his blessin'...”

Sigrid took pause at that, blinking, all her nervousness, confusion, and delicious, terrifying arousal forgotten for a brief moment. Or at least, put on hold, “...My father?” She repeated, flatly, “Da made you promise not to...?” Fili seemed a little taken aback by her manner for all of a second, before he had the good sense to look sheepish, reaching up and tugging at his braids.

“...Aye,” He admitted, sighing, “One of his conditions is that, ah...yer still a maid, when and if we're wed.”

For a short while, Sigrid could swear she actually saw red. “...He holds to that?!” She hissed, in full command of what she was feeling now, and Fili could only watch as she stomped off down the hall, fists clenched, “He'd put a worth on such a thing? I've _seen_ him call men fools, who'd judge their daughters in such a way ...ugh!” She threw up her hands, turning a few times where she stood, before sitting on a bench in the hall, huffing, “For pity's sake, he and my mum hardly made it to a clerk themselves before she started to show!”

Approaching her carefully, wisely keeping the grin that threatened to split his face in check, Fili tried to explain, “I think it's far less about...about controllin' _you_ , Sig,” He stepped in front of her seat, reaching to touch her hair even as she fumed, “And more...seein' how much I mean what I promise. If I'd be steadfast, no matter the terms.” Well, all right, that did sound more like her father, and Sigrid relaxed, but only a little. 

“Well, that's still not takin' me and my thoughts on the matter into consideration,” She pointed out, frowning at him, “It's not as if I don't want you just as badly.” It left her lips so much easier, when she was too riled to be shy. Her cheeks felt warm all the same, as he pulled in a deep breath and drew near to her again, burying his hand in her hair, “...Can you not play the King Under The Mountain card?” Sigrid asked him in a whisper, only half-joking. Fili grinned, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Think that's kind of the point,” He replied, a somewhat more serious thread in his voice, “How much of my family's legacy is of pride, of simply taking and keeping what was deemed due them?” A kiss to her brow, and Sigrid sighed, “So, I'd be humble before Bard, that he might know all that I'd give for him to think me worthy of you.” 

“...Well, when you frame it like that...” She managed a little smirk, her ire subsiding for the moment, her hands gripping his belt as he stood before her, “I still mean to give him a piece of my mind on the subject, of course.”

“Oh, pray do, lass.” Fili all but groaned into her hair, and Sigrid's laugh echoed down the empty hall.

“...So,” She found herself venturing, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze, that shyness returning but only a little bit now, after having expressed herself so precisely. A small smile flitted at the corners of her lips, and her King was the one looking down at her a touch nervously, “Had that not been the terms...how'd we be spending this night?” Her voice had gone very soft, and it took him a moment to truly grasp her meaning, drawing in a sharp breath when he did.

“...You'll be the end of me,” Fili murmured, and she shifted where she sat, curling her legs up under her so that he might step even closer in the cool, dim light, one rough hand resting at her waist, “First off, I'd be gettin' you out of this dress, pretty as it is,” His lips brushed her ear as he spoke, and she drew in a sharp breath, feeling him grin, “Underskirts an' stays would go as well...after gettin' a good eyeful, of course.”

“Of course,” Sig's voice only wavered a little, her grip on his belt tightening.

“I'd get you out of all but these,” He went on, reaching to lightly touch her ankle where it rested on the bench, stroking her fine, thin stockings (finest and thinnest she'd ever seen, let alone worn). “Looks right sweet that way,” His lips pressed to her temple then, his fingers slowly sliding up her ankle and calf though, frustratingly, no further. Sigrid huffed, shifting, turning her mouth toward his.

“You'd know about that, then?” She teased in a whisper, their lips barely touching. Of course she knew he'd been with a lass or two, he'd told her as much by now. It was no less fun, watching him color just a bit, even now.

“My imaginin's of you near-naked are all quite nice, lass,” Fili teased right back, stroking the back of her knee, her breath stuttering, his mouth moving down to her throat, the braids in his beard brushing her skin. “I'd spend a lot of time at this, too,” He murmured against her pulse point, “Kissin' every bit of you first, every soft, lovely inch of pale skin...” His teeth just grazed her clavicle, and Sigrid suppressed a whimper, “Yer neck, yer legs...” His thumb touched the barest inch of her thigh, “Kissin' that sweet place between 'em good and proper...”

“Aye?” Sigrid breathed, grinning with some amount of genuine curiosity, even as coherent thought was proving difficult. She'd certainly heard her share of bawdy songs or jokes referring to how a lady could service a lad in such a way, but...

“Oh aye,” Fili's voice was a rumble, his eyes dark as he looked on her, just before he kissed her properly. One arm wound around her waist, the other gripping the bare skin of her thigh under her skirts as he parted her lips. Sigrid gasped into his mouth, his tongue sliding against hers and oh. Her imagination had no trouble with the rest, an ache building between her legs as his hands wandered over and under her slight curves, her own fingers gripping hard to the front of his coat. 

“Then what?” She managed to ask, when they both came up for air. He huffed on a chuckle, dropping his forehead to rest against hers again, looking at once like a besotted lad, and yet still a grown man, a King possessed, eyes focused, hungry on her. Sigrid thought she might fall to blissfully frustrated pieces. 

“I'd keep on it, 'til y'were tremblin' under me,” He managed to answer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and watching as she shivered, both at the touch and the image conjured in her head. That ache only became worse...

A long groan left him, then, before he was pushing himself back and away, a rush of the cool spring air suddenly returning between them. “Mahal...I-I really should...”

“Aye, I know,” Sigrid shut her eyes hard, taking a deep breath of the fresh air, a nervous, high laugh leaving her lips. She pressed the back of her hand to her brow. “I'm going to kill 'im.” Fili snorted. When she opened her eyes again he looked as undone as she felt, though, and that was something of a comfort. He offered her a hand, and she took it, rising from the bench with a sigh, “...I've something to think on tonight, though,” She whispered, as he tugged her back toward her rooms.

“Oh Sig, if only you knew,” Fili murmured, reaching up to touch his gold in her hair once more, “How the thought of you has warmed my nights...”

“We'll both know, soon,” She vowed in a whisper, bending to kiss him one more time, chaste compared to all that had just transpired, “Goodnight, my King.”

“I love you, my queen,” He grinned, swallowing hard and turning to go. 

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Slipping into her rooms, Sigrid slumped against her door, groaning, growling, and then catching a look at herself in her vanity mirror and letting out a gasping laugh, at the rough and tousled mess of a girl she was. She left all of her clothes in a heap and all but collapsed into her new, soft bed, exhausted, yet with her blood still pounding hard through every vein, that ache keen and sweet. An ache could be eased though, she mused, turning over to lie on her back...but she wasn't sure if she could survive her entire courtship being like this. All strung nerves and stolen, groping kisses and nights ending with their blood still burning. Surely, it would kill her.

“...There are far worse ways to die, though.” She was forced to admit to the new plaster of her repaired ceiling.

 

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	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hullo! For such a short, transitional, checking-in-with-others kind of chapter, this one was a bear to wrestle out of my brain. But I did, and just before I'm about to bugger off to the midwest for eight days, away from my computer. Worry not though! I shall return, and with plenty of notes to type up I'm sure.

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Things weren't much better for the King of Erebor, though getting lost three times on the way to his guest chambers helped to cool his blood a little. His head remained muddled, though, the unbearable sensation of being apart from her at all felt to his bones. And no, it was not simply wanting her...it was wanting to wake up with her, to see her face in the early morning light, to have her clever, witty voice trailing him throughout his day. He wanted her for always, he wanted to be hers for just as long.

Now, if only there were a sure way to unequivocally convince her father of that fact, of the truth of the ache in his heart, and they'd be enjoying all that all the sooner. Fili hadn't the foggiest notion of how to hurry along the process, sadly, and so continued his lonely, slightly chilly adventure through the palace halls until he found his rooms at last. On opening his chamber doors, however, he was nearly bowled over by a tall figure exiting, staggering back with a start. 

He fancied, after a beat, that he'd never seen an elf look so very awkward as Tauriel did in that moment, her hair mussed, her face flushed, mouth opening and closing like some kind of very fair fish. Behind her, far back in the room, Kili was standing in only his trousers and tunic, eyes wide. Fili frowned, glancing between the two of them, and then to the bed. HIS bed.

Fili groaned, running a hand over his face, “...In my bed?!” 

“...There may have been some talk,” Kili cleared his throat, motioning vaguely with his hands as he spoke. Tauriel remained perfectly still, like some terribly awkward young tree, “About, what with all the personal guards on you in Erebor an' all...this might be our only chance to...in th' King's bed...” A high, odd sound left the Captain's throat, before she was swiftly gone, down the hall. Fili just stared at his brother, jaw gone slack.

“...Mahal, are you a damn youngling?!” He threw up his hands, shaking his head, nodding to an adjacent door, “...I'm takin' your room then.” Kili gave him a sheepish grin. Fili shut his eyes, and inwardly counted to ten.

“...We thought you'd be sneakin' off with Sig!”

“I can't yet!” Fili bellowed, the true source of his ire becoming apparent and bless him (Fili would think later), Kili didn't goad him, just nodded, pressing his lips together. 

“I mean, if it's any consolin', it was on top of the covers...?”

“...Somewhat,” Fili sighed, slumping, shaking his head again as he kicked off his boots and carefully unclasped his cloak, setting his crown aside. “We'll need to talk about this soon, y'know that, aye?” He asked his brother in all seriousness, and Kili swallowed, nodding, gathering up his own things from the floor, “Mum'll be here in a matter of days. The idea of Sigrid, I know she'll warm to after some time, but this...”

“I know,” Kili whispered, looking to him carefully, and Fili felt his annoyance fading by the moment, smirking a little.

“I'll be on yer side, however it goes,” He assured him, and got a little smile in return. And then he growled, “Now get out of m'damn room, before I beat yer arse.”

 

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The sun was bright and warm on the newly tilled earth outside of Dale's walls, and Sigrid took a long moment to breathe deep of the scent, smiling wide from her parapets to the elves and kinsmen below as they went about their good work. Her goal was not forgotten though, striding through the halls with a purpose, only mildly stirred by the rebuilt beauty all around her. Her light knock fell on the door to her father's suite, and on being granted admittance she hurried through Bard's rooms toward his study, her brow set, her intentions firm. 

Within, she beheld her father singing parchments as Alfrid handed them over, waiting for her leave with a barely contained agitation. Bard glanced up with a surprised look, a brow lofted, but only for a moment. Sigrid's expression was an easy one to read, “What's bothering you, Sig?” He asked informally, his new assistant a touch unwilling to leave his side, finally bowing off with a smile. Bard shook his head as a side door closed behind the Master's former right hand, sighing, “I've stopped waitin' for the other shoe to drop there, and find m'self far more concerned for the state of his nerves, after near dyin'...”

“Perhaps he simply needs to spend some time in the Hall of Healers,” Sigrid suggested generously, clasping her hands together under her long, green sleeves, “As to what's bothering me, I challenge my da to guess,” She gave him a wry smile, and Bard's eyes narrowed, the Man sitting back in his large chair, tapping his chin.

“...Some detail regarding the Dwarf King, is all I can reckon,” He replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his grim mouth. Sigrid, however, was not amused, her own gaze narrowing.

“Accurate...” She sighed, tossing away formalities as she leaned forward, resting her hands on her father's desk, speaking to him as if nothing had changed between them, since she was simply the Bargeman's daughter, “Since when do you hold to the notion that purity's a virtue, da?” He stilled for a moment, and Sigrid took the opportunity to press on, “Mum had me four months after you married, I know it didn't trouble you much then.” 

“It is...not to rein you in, Sig,” Bard began, slowly, looking terribly uncomfortable as he did, his voice faltering, “Rather, I meant to focus the sights of he who pursues you...”

“So Fili himself would say,” Sigrid nodded, her voice still unamused, “I say, still, that for all that's well and good, no one is asking my opinion.” At that her father took pause, nodding slowly, a wince crossing his features.

“Aye...I should've had a talk with you as well, soon as you came home, just...” Another wince, “I fancy no father wishes to dwell over-much on his child's intimacies.” Sigrid only gave him a flat look, though all right, another fair point. Bard sighed deeply then, sitting back in his chair with a rather weary manner, “Ah Sig, I've always known I'd lose you, one day,” He spoke, smiling faintly, “To a merchant's son or the fish monger's lad down the dock, it would not have mattered to me, as long as you were loved, that he appreciated you as your family did...and that he could keep you safe,” He added meaningfully, and Sigrid swallowed, her ire swiftly fading, “I never thought I would lose you to the Mountain. Especially after coming so close to losing you to a dragon.” 

“...You know he would never harm me,” She whispered, her voice now softer, moving around Bard's desk to take his hand in both of hers. The King of Dale shook his head.

“My head knows, my heart wants to believe it, and yet my nerves still shake at the notion,” He admitted plainly, “I haven't the foggiest thought on how to do any of this, Sigrid,” A chuckle, “Zoria is very patient with my nerves, with my anxious glances toward Erebor even as I lead this city as best I can. I do not know what will, at last, set them to rest in regards to your Dwarf King, good as he's proven himself. I remember the dragon...and I remember his uncle's madness.” Bard looked on her fully, then, “Forgive me, then, for buying time with rules, for wanting to protect your heart in any way I think I can, until my soul is settled on the matter...it is selfish, yes, and perhaps you might break every one before my consent to wed is given, but...”

“I wouldn't,” Sigrid sighed herself, wiping at her eyes, hastily. It was rare that he spoke so much at one time, even to his children, let alone the subject matter. “...Not yet, anyway,” She admitted, wryly, and Bard snorted, rising and pulling her into an embrace, “I love you, da,” She murmured into his surcoat, “He'll have your fears eased soon, I know he will.”

“I want to believe it,” Bard nodded. “More than anything, Sig.”

Sigrid let out another long sigh. 

 

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Thorin's house in Dale was a fine set of rooms only just down the cobbled way from The Hall of Healers. Before any other festivities or pretty company the day may bring, Fili's first errand the morning after the feasting was at his uncle's home, striding through the foggy, already-bustling streets with his brother at his side. As was becoming the usual, the Men of Dale called enthusiastic greetings to the King and Prince, their voices sounding all the warmer, Fili thought, after knowing he courted their Princess. The notion put a wide grin on his face.

Kili, however, was less inclined to merriment at that early in the morning, groaning as they went on their way. “By grandfather's mithril-laden beard, why are we callin' on him at this hour, aye?”

“This hour's quite a reasonable one, little brother,” Fili reminded him, stopping by the nearest food cart just as they were putting their wares on display. He handed the seller a few of Erebor's heavy coins, receiving tasty salted walnuts from the south and a merry thank you in return. “Unless, of course, y'were up long after I turned in.” He handed Kili the nuts, and his brother grumbled.

“Oi, not like I'm a King,” Kili groused, only half-serious, and Fili snorted.

“Nope, just a Prince.” He gave his brother a hefty shove.

On ringing the bell they were met promptly by Bilbo, dressed as fine as Fili remembered from long ago when they first left Bag-End. Though at the moment he had on a large apron over his fine waistcoat and trousers, a wooden spoon tucked in a pocket, “Ah lads, just in time for breakfa- ...oof!” The Hobbit protested, as both brothers tugged him in for a bear hug in turn.

“Esteemed Mr. Boggins!” Kili joked, following the mildly annoyed Hobbit inside the cool stone house, breathing deep the scent of a fine breakfast cooking, eggs and bacon and scones. “Keepin' my uncle in fine comfort, I smell.”

“And I hope to keep it that way, so no dish-tossing or table-treading antics!” Bilbo told them firmly, and Fili laughed, glancing at the sparse home. Hangings and nick-knacks were here and there, sent down from Erebor to keep Thorin Oakenshield well, even as he kept himself away from his ancestral home's wealth. Fili swallowed hard, a hand brushing the Dwarven stonework on the walls. 

Thorin himself was seated at the head of his long dining table, dressed in the fine clothes befitting a Dwarf Lord, his bearing as noble as ever. A hand rested idly on the stump of his leg, his attention taken by the pile of letters in front of him, until his nephews passed into his vision. His whole countenance brightened at the sight of them, and Fili felt his throat grow tight again, having not seen such a smile on his Uncle's face in years, it seemed. 

“Lads,” Thorin's voice remained rough, as it had been ever since the last battle, but it was steady, reaching to clasp each of their shoulders in turn. “You look so well...for the most part, I note,” His keen eye fell on Kili, who winced, and Fili chuckled, drawing Thorin's gaze back to him, “...Kingship sits well on you, nephew.”

“I'll trust yer word,” Fili dipped his head, the two of them taking their seats at the well-laden table, Bilbo tossing off his apron and sitting as well.

“Oi, drink your tea,” The Hobbit scolded Thorin, causing his nephews to take pause, glancing at their uncle with old, ingrained nervousness, over any instance when he was challenged.

“It tastes terrible,” Thorin only grumbled, even as he brought his mug to his lips. 

“Of course it does, it's full of medicines,” Bilbo maintained, buttering his scones, “But by all means, go on putting your lungs through undue toil and wasting your healers' hard work,” He went on mildly, sipping his own tea, “What's living another few years, against coughing up blood in the mornings, mm?” Thorin grumbled for a bit more, yet drained his mug. 

“Though Balin may send me many reports,” Thorin changed the subject, avoiding the concern in the room for his health and motioning to the pile of parchment beside his plate. He looked to Fili again, as he and Kili tucked into the fine breakfast, “I would know of Erebor in your own words though, both of you,” A small smile grew behind Thorin's beard, “Tell me of our home. Tell me of your struggles and triumphs, and of our people.” 

And so they did. For nigh on an hour as they ate and drank, Fili and his brother spoke long of the comings and goings of their people, of those families who'd made their way back to the mountain, of the great works done within Erebor's halls. Of the mining of mithril and the help sent to Dale and Esgaroth, of the trade agreements already rekindled as far south as Gondor. He was quietly impressed Fili could tell, Thorin's eyes warm as he looked on the two of them, as they spoke. 

“And of the Lady of Dale?” Thorin asked at length, noting Fili's pause with a chuckle, “She tends to my ailments near as often as Oin does, lad, there's little I do not know on the matter. How goes your pursuit?”

“Well enough,” Fili cleared his throat, brushing crumbs from his beard, “You've no objections on the matter? Her bein' a child of Men, and all...”

“She is a fine enough lass, her spine of steel. Certainly commanding enough to contend with any Dwarf lass, for all she's young yet,” Thorin nodded once, his expression as passive as ever, “Whether or not she has the strength of will to be a Queen of Erebor, to bear you sons bearded and hale, well, time will tell. And besides,” Here he smirked, “It is not my opinion you should trouble yourself with, so much as your mother's. It is her intuition that is regarded higher, in matters of wives.”

“A comforting notion,” Fili winced, nudging his brother hard before Kili had the chance to laugh. “She will be here, soon, or so the letters I've gotten would say. Have y'gotten more, Uncle?”

“Only a few,” Thorin nodded to Bilbo, “The last was addressed to you, as I recall.”

“Was a time ago, though,” The Hobbit noted, dabbing lightly at his chin with a napkin, “And just to say that Dwalin had set up a retainer from among his relations, to look after Bag End until...well, until I go west again,” He cleared his throat, rising just as the bell rang again, “Apparently he picked the exact right cousin to spook off my relation, Lobelia, from my silver!” He bustled off to answer the door, and Fili laughed.

“Well, word has it that Mother will be here before the planting is done,” He noted, “Suppose I'd best muster myself...”

“Sooner than that,” Balin's bemused voice piped up as he entered the room just behind Bilbo, a sheet of parchment in hand, “Her boat left Esgaroth yesterday morn, she'll be here by Afternoon!” Fili felt himself go pale, his uncle's chuckle rising at his back. 

Well then.

 

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End file.
